


Camdon Inn

by dragonspell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the backwoods of Northern Michigan, Sam and Dean are on the trail of what they think might be the area's fabled 'Dog Man.' What they find instead in the small town of Silver Lake is a suspicious sheriff, a shady innkeeper, a closed mouth town and a lot more than they bargained for when the supposed overly large wolf that they were hunting starts hunting them back. And, much to Dean's horror, he can no longer seem to keep his hands off of Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal 8-28-16.

  
[Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 2](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143581.html)  


  
  


 

Dean Winchester was sure that, with a little bit of work, the building of the bed and breakfast they were standing in front of could be almost livable. You just needed to replace a few things—like maybe the entire house. Yeah. That’d work. Dean turned to look at his brother Sam who was staring at the rundown building with his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Seriously?” he asked, voicing both of their thoughts because jeez, if anything, you’d think Sam would have picked a nicer place. After all, he was always the one bitching about things not being up to his standard instead of just going to sleep like he was supposed to. Dean knew—just KNEW—that they were going to have a conversation tonight about the weird sounds in the walls and that neither one of them were going to be thinking there was anything supernatural about it. There’d be something to ‘hunt’ all right, but it wasn’t going to be any monsters.

The Camdon Inn had seen better days—days when part of its roof hadn’t caved in and been boarded over in a quick fix solution that was never meant to be permanent. Days when the whole left side of the building didn’t look ready to just lie down and take a nap. Days when maybe the lawn had been mowed. Maybe.

It was a two story building, standing in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded by the untamed woods of Northern Michigan with their colored, dying leaves and just looked like an absolutely fine place to be murdered: in the middle of absolutely nowhere, fifteen minutes from any sign of civilization and so stereotypically perfect for no one to hear you scream. The tall grass of the clearing was currently brushing the window sills and was probably ready to be baled any time now. Matter of fact, it was starting to overtake even the ‘road’ that they were currently stopped on. Not that Dean would actually call it a road. Maybe a ‘trail.’ A pathway. For deer. It was covered with dirt and sand instead of pavement and Dean really didn’t want to think about what it was possibly doing to the underside of the Impala. Dean had been disbelieving when Sam had told him to turn off the main road onto this little sidetrack and now, seeing their destination, he was even less impressed. He turned into the Camdon’s driveway, the Impala’s wheels crunching over the gravel as they wound their way around.

Sam winced. “It’s the only hotel in town, Dean…”

No wonder it was such a ghost town then. Apparently Silver Lake had missed the memo about tourism being one of Michigan’s biggest industries. You know, since the whole copper thing had wound down and Detroit wasn’t doing so hot anymore either. Or maybe they were just a little unclear on how that whole thing worked because there was ‘scenic’ and then there was _scenic_. “Great,” Dean said as they bounced their way to the hotel. “You couldn’t even find a reasonable house to squat in or something?”

Sam sighed and went quiet, waiting until the Impala rumbled to a stop and Dean killed the engine to talk again. “We’re here. We’ve stayed in worse.”

Dean snorted as he stepped out of the Impala. “Not for long we haven’t.” Sam could say a lot about their father and the various ratholes he’d left them in over the years, but not even he could claim that their father had made them stay in what Dean was fairly certain was a condemned building. Well, okay, not for longer than a day anyway. And they were definitely staying here for more than a few days.

“Dean…”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna complain, Sammy.” Much. “Scene of one of the murders right?” Dean hadn’t been kidding when he’d thought that the Camdon would be a fine place to be murdered. Especially seeing as how two girls had died here already. Just last month, actually. Dean could still see some strips of yellow police tape caught in the grass, discarded by what passed for the little town’s local copshop.

The Camdon’s appearance wasn’t helped any by the gray overcast skies that had been looming ever since they’d come within fifty miles of the town of Silver Lake, Michigan, either. The town was probably named “silver” because the sky was never blue enough for it to be “Blue Lake,” though Dean figured that a better name for the town and its “vacation spot” of a lake would be “Brown Lake.”

“It’s ‘cheery,’” Dean pronounced and headed for the trunk. “Go check us in, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam shot back automatically, already halfway to the inn’s front door. Dean sorted through the trunk of the Impala, making a quick check as he stuffed a spare duffel with various things to sneak into the hotel room—salt, books, spare weapons, silver bullets…

Three bodies had turned up already in the area just recently—slashed open from throat to hip and insides spilling out, the hearts missing. The two girls at the Camdon last month were the first—travelers, though to where Dean didn’t have a damn clue because as far as he was concerned, there wasn’t anything worth seeing in Michigan that was higher than Lansing and definitely nothing past the Mackinac Bridge. But yet here was where the girls had been, kicking around in the abysmally cold and dull Upper Peninsula. The other victim had been a local: an old man found at the edge of his property by the woods. Same cause of death. He’d died last week and it’d been his obituary that Sammy had circled and Dean’d reluctantly agreed meant something.

The wounds had been too messy to have been made by blade, the skin shredded with little rhyme or reason. Instead, it looked more like the work of claws, ripping and tearing open the victims. Which was just _awesome_ , of course. Nothing like being pinned down while an evil motherfucker ripped out your guts.

This wasn’t the first time the sleepy little town of Silver Lake had been rocked by a string of brutal murders. Twenty-five years ago, five people had died the exact same way, flooding the front page of Silver Lake’s now defunct local paper and even making page 6 of the Detroit Free Press. They’d thought that they’d had a serial in their midst back then and all the resident bigwigs had made the requisite promises: “We’ll catch this criminal and bring him to justice”, “There’s no need to worry”, and “You’ll be safe inside your homes.” Dean really liked that last one because all of the victims of the last spree had been killed inside their homes.

The murders had suddenly stopped, though, one day out of the blue—just bam! The killer was gone without a trace. Wild theories had started about the killer committing suicide or possibly getting killed himself—all the same, obligatory bullshit. Really, the town of Silver Lake had just been glad to lose their little bit of notoriety, quickly dropping the story out of the news and dumping it into history.

That pointed to possibly a haunting, but that didn’t explain the wolf. A local cop report that had since been cleaned up had surfaced on the web, had a witness making a statement that she saw a large wolf kill her husband—not a mystery ghost or any other creature. She’d been convinced that it had been a wolf bigger than a man—at least until the next day when she miraculously changed her tune.

There were also rumors of a “dog man” in Michigan but besides a famous song written for an April Fool’s joke, they hadn’t found anything to back it up and Dean was willing to write that one off as a hoax if he had to. The murders, as well, were twenty-five years instead of ten, making it off the cycle even if the creature had gone elsewhere. Still, it never hurt to come prepared because, all in all, ignoring the time gap and the dog man actually looking like a dog, there were a couple of ticks in the “werewolf” column already.

Dean slammed the trunk of the Impala and headed to the heavy front door of the Camdon Inn. Plain and simple, it hung just off its hinges, looking like it would never particularly close right. Bet that felt real nice in the middle of winter what with the subzero temperatures and all.

Ever since that one time that Dad had hauled them up to Marquette in the middle of freaking February and they’d had to spend a horrible weekend snowed-in, stuck in a tiny cottage, Dean had never quite forgiven Northern Michigan. It hadn't been Michigan's fault that Sam and Dad were constantly at each others' throats but still. He’d made it a point not to come back until at least July. Maybe August. It was just too damned cold otherwise and the Impala never did all that well in snow. Especially not snow that piled higher than her hood. Somehow, though, with just that one circled obituary and a print-off of the girls’ earlier murders, Sam’d convinced Dean to come to Silver Lake during October, which, of course, still felt like freaking winter. Dean took the front steps two at a time as he tried to hurry inside.

The last step squealed when his foot landed on it and Dean hurriedly jumped off before it had a chance to cave in on him. “Jesus,” he whispered as he entered inside the building. Be just his damn luck to survive monsters and demons just to be done in by a front porch.

The interior of the Camdon Inn, Dean had to admit, looked better than the outside with its smooth wood floor and plush red furniture surrounding a warm fire—kind of like a porno mag hidden in a textbook’s cover. Without the hot girls, of course. There was always the definite possibility, however, that maybe the staff had just hidden all of the flaws away in random closets for the sake of the press’s cameras. Dean glanced warily around just on the off-chance he might be able to see the dusty sheets and moth-bitten rugs that the place demanded to up its creep factor stuffed away or hidden around a corner.

The building had more than a passing resemblance to an old hunting lodge, complete with Bambi making eyes at him over the fireplace. Matter of fact, there were a _lot_ of dead stuffed animals just hanging around everywhere, staring directly at him and Dean couldn’t stop the small shiver that worked its way down his spine.

Maybe it was just Dean or maybe he’d been a hunter too long, but he couldn’t find it in himself to trust a taxidermist. There was something inherently creepy about the kind of person that got off on killing some creature and then putting it out on display like they were all about to have a tea party. Frankly, Dean had known serial killers with less disturbing habits. Dean eventually turned away from the happy forest friends currently staring him down and walked over to the front desk where Sam was standing, talking with the clerk.

“—oh, no,” Sam was saying. “I understand. The cabin’s fine.”

The clerk’s smile was positively oily, all ingratiating smarm. The man was balding with an ordinary face and wearing, quaintly enough, a checkered sweater vest. Dean gave a half smile when the guy turned to include him in the conversation. Impossibly, the man’s smirk grew even oilier. “Thank you gentlemen for being so agreeable,” the clerk said, making sure to stare long and hard at the both of them. “I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience. My name’s Brian and just let me know if there’s anything I can help you two with out there.” He tried to grab for Dean’s hand but Dean took an instinctive step backward, dodging out of his reach. “Anything at all,” Brian added. “I’m _always_ here.” Dean cocked an eyebrow and bit his lip to stop the comment that wanted to pop out—they were probably going to need to interview the guy sooner or later and that’d most likely go over better if ‘Brian’ didn’t hate Dean.

That didn’t mean that Dean was going to keep it to himself once it was just Sam and him, though. Brian turned away and wandered around the counter to head upstairs as Sam and Dean headed for the door and Dean punched Sam in the shoulder on the way out. Sam glared at Dean who batted his eyelashes. “ ‘Anything at all,’” Dean repeated in a breathy sigh, curling his fingers in the sleeve of Sam’s Carhart. ‘You handsome piece of manmeat, you.’” He laughed, letting go of Sam. “Dude! He so wanted you.”

Sam’s glare turned a few degrees colder as he walked past and headed down the steps. “He was just being nice.”

“Oh, no, he wanted to know if you needed a sponge bath, Sammy,” Dean said, catching up. “Trust me.”

“For your information,” Sam started, turning around to glance at Dean, “he didn’t say anything like that until you walked up. And I seem to recall he was staring straight at you when he said the ‘anything at all’ line.” Dean stumbled on the last step and Sam shot Dean a triumphant grin, thinking that he’d finally won something. Fat fucking chance. “Maybe he thinks you’re pretty.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Whatever. It rankled that Dean didn’t really have a good comeback for that because, yeah, the guy _had_ been looking right at Dean when he’d said that. “I still think he wants your ass, man. That’s all I’m saying. And he looks crazy, too.”

“Yes, Dean. Middle aged men in sweater vests. Evil.”

“No, I mean like ‘stab you in the shower crazy.’”

Sam gave a surprised laugh. “Norman Bates?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I’d watch your back in the bathroom, man. Just saying.” There was something about a person who could work with all those creepy dead animals staring at him—something was bound to be off there. They just proved that Brian possibly had mad skills if he ever wanted to stuff somebody. Sam was still smirking at him, though, so Dean changed the subject again. “Why aren’t we staying in the hotel?”

Sam held up a set of keys, shaking it. “Building’s being repaired,” Sam said wryly and Dean raised his eyebrows.

“No kidding,” he deadpanned, glancing back at the Camdon’s peeling shake siding.

“Not just general repairs, Dean,” Sam corrected. “Apparently when the girls were killed, whatever did it took out two walls and three doors in the process.”

“Damn.” Talk about your overkill. Dean frowned. “That wasn’t in the police report.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Sam agreed, nodding. “And they won’t allow us to go up anyway, so, so much for having an easy excuse to check it out.”

“Fuck.” Being able to investigate the scene to their hearts’ content had been the Camdon’s only good point. Besides the whole being the only place in town angle, but whatever.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “We’re in one of the cabins out back.” He jerked his head in the vague vicinity of the looming forest.

Dean sighed. “Isn’t that just special?” There was always hope, though, that the cabins would be in better shape than the main hotel even if, judging by the rest of the place, it was more like a _slim_ chance. But at least in a cabin they really wouldn’t have to deal with the cleaning staff. Not that Dean had much faith in the cleaning staff here anyway.

Sam scratched the back of his head, glancing at the ground for a moment before throwing Dean a look. “It’s, uh, quite a way back they said.”

In other words, he wanted to take the Impala. Into the woods. Dean stared flatly. “Is there a road?” ‘Cause like Hell he was taking his baby for a joyride through the ‘rolling hills’ of Michigan.

Sam winced. “There’s a two track.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be _kidding_ me.” His baby’s undercarriage was going to hate him. He was going to have to spend months trying to convince her to forgive him. A trip down a two-track was good for at least a tune-up, a good cleaning and at least two wax jobs—and that wasn’t counting anything that might get screwed up: steering, tie rods, brakes…. Fuck. Dean glared at Sam who just shrugged apologetically, pulling out his damn puppy dog eyes that never failed to make Dean cave faster than a house of cards. Sighing, Dean stomped back to the car, throwing the bags into the backseat as Sam slide in the passenger side. Dean slammed into the driver’s side and turned on Sam, pointing a finger. “If we get snowed in or stuck in mud or _snowed-in_ it’s your damned fault.”

Sam glared at the finger Dean was waving in front of him. “Dude. It’s the middle of October. We’re going to be fine.”

Dean snorted before starting the car. The last time Sam had said that, he seemed to remember somebody coming down with pneumonia. As much of a bitch as Sam was normally, he was ten times worse when he was sick. He was all ‘Dean, get me this’ and ‘Dean, get me that’ and ‘Dean, massage my feet.’ Worse than a goddamned girl.

“You know,” Sam said, conversationally, “some people actually _pay_ to come up here at this time.”

“That’s because they’re fucking crazy,” Dean retorted, throwing the Impala into reverse to back up out of the little driveway. He wasn’t going to talk about bored rich people and their incessant need to see dead leaves before they fell off trees.

Sam shrugged. “Whatever. Brian said that the two track branches off right after the mailbox.”

His baby was never going to forgive him. Dean was certain of that. He winced as he turned onto the two-track, hearing the tall grass scrape against the undercarriage and the sides, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. Never ever. And if she had a fricking _scratch_ on her after they got done with this, _he_ wasn’t going to forgive _Sam_. The trees were closing in on them and their branches were getting entirely too handsy for Dean’s peace of mind.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes because no, he’d never understand but Dean didn’t expect him to. It wasn’t like he had to maintain the damn car and knew what those noises meant could be happening to it. Thankfully, the cabin was only about half a mile back, nestled into a tiny clearing in the forest. There was even a bit of gravel in front of it, perfect to park the Impala on though Dean wasn’t too clear on why there was gravel here and not on, say, the _road._ He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. He parked and jumped out to check his baby’s paint job.

Sam sighed like a bitch again, obviously just holding back his nagging and grabbed the bags out of the backseat. “Just fuck it already and get it over with…” he muttered but Dean ignored him, petting the Impala soothingly. Sam never would understand.

Surprisingly, the cabin did seem to be in better shape than the hotel. At least the roof appeared to be in one piece and the rough-sawn cedar shake covering the building didn’t look too worse for wear. There was a tiny covered porch attached to the front of it and Dean walked up the steps to inspect the rafters. Looked sound enough, he supposed. He wasn’t exactly a carpenter, though, so what did he know?

Sam wrestled with the bags as he unlocked the door and, swearing under his breath, Sam finally managed to get the door open, pushing it in. Dean took it as a good sign that the door actually shut properly.

The inside of the cabin wasn’t too bad, either. Nothing fancy but they’d definitely stayed in worse. To Dean’s right there was a well used beige plaid couch sitting in front of a surprisingly clean fireplace, a threadbare rug in between them. To his left sat a little dining room table with three chairs where Sam was dropping their stuff and a little farther back, the kitchen jutted out into its own little corner, only being marked as a different room by the sudden start of cabinets. There was a stove, a sink and a refrigerator—the basic necessities so at least they weren’t going to have to rough it, entirely.

Dean strode to the cabinets, opening one out of curiosity rather than any sense of expectation. A good thing, he supposed, because it was empty except for a thick layer of dust. He twisted his lips into a pout anyway just for Sam’s benefit. “Looks like we need to do some shopping.”

“Huh?” Sam glanced up from where he was already starting to set up shop, hauling out book after book from the duffle bags and stacking them on the table. “Oh, yeah. Probably.”

“Ain’t no ‘probably’ about it, Sammy,” Dean said as he headed to the back of the cabin towards the two doors left to explore. One was set in the west wall, directly where the kitchen ended and Dean opened it curiously.

A small basin sink stood inside, with a mirror over top of it and Dean grinned at his own reflection before peering into the rest of the room. The toilet wasn’t anything special (was a toilet ever?) but the bathtub made his eyebrows rise. Claw-footed and huge, it looked big enough for three people and dominated the entire room. Also, he couldn’t seem to find a showerhead...

Dean sighed—so much for being able to hop a quick shower. It looked like he and Sammy were going to be taking baths while they were here. Which better not be long. He backed out of the bathroom and caught Sam’s eye. “Good news, Sammy! Brian won't be able to stab you in the shower later on. We don't have one.” Sam huffed and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he kept unpacking.

Laughing, Dean opened the other door and whistled. There was only one bed which, yeah, might be a problem but at least it was freaking huge, too. It looked like part of a tree growing up out of the ground with its thick trunk of a base. Piled high with blankets it took up most of the room. Dean closed the door and turned back to Sam. “Dibs on the bed.”

Sam glanced up again. “What?” he asked, catching on just a little too slow again. Then he frowned. “I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

Dean shrugged. “Then I’m sure you’ll find the floor comfy,” he replied and moved to inspect the couch.

“Dude,” Sam said, frustration starting to seep into his voice, “if you’re done checking out the place like a dog, maybe you could remember that we have a job to do here?” He pointed at the stuff already unpacked. “Three people dead in the past month, more before, this ringing any bells?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Nag, nag, nag. If I wanted a housewife, Sammy, I would have gotten married.” But he grabbed the salt anyway and started laying down lines against the window.

“So,” Sam said, deliberately letting Dean’s barb slide in the effort of making peace, Dean was sure, “I’m thinking we should start with Barb Littleton.” He grabbed the chalk and bent down to etch a protective rune on the underside of the table. He probably didn’t forget if it curved to the left or to the right or if it didn’t curve at all and ended in a straight line with a circle on the end. That would be why it was always Sam’s job to sketch the runes.

Grunting noncommittally, Dean finished the first window and moved on to the second. “She the wife of the last victim?” Between the possible sorority girls and the old man, it was a safe enough guess.

“Yeah. And a witness.”

 

  
[Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 2](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143581.html)  


  



	2. Chapter 2

  
[Part 1](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143165.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 3](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143694.html)  


 

Barb Littleton had once been a knockout of a woman. She still was, even pushing 70, still all soft curves and pretty face. Dean’d taken one look at her and the words “I’d hit it” had echoed through his head. Sometimes he even disturbed himself but he’d found that it was best to just roll with these things. So he’d plastered on his most charming grin and didn’t let either Sammy or Mrs. Littleton know exactly what he was thinking. Best for all involved, really.

“So, Mrs. Littleton,” Sam said, putting on his best ‘concerned’ face and adjusting his suit jacket. They were playing FBI agents today which meant they had to break out the damn suits again. Dean kept his hands firmly on his thighs in order to stop himself from tearing at the tie he could swear was choking him. “You say you saw what killed your husband?” How the Hell Sam managed to not let suits bother him, Dean didn’t think he’d ever know.

Mrs. Littleton nodded, dabbing at her eyes before reaching for the tea she’d insisted on making for them. “It was a bear,” she said. “Came right out of the woods and charged him. He didn’t even have a chance.”

Sam glanced meaningfully at Dean and Dean nodded. Great. Another round of good cop/bad cop to play. His favorite. “That wasn’t what you told the police, Mrs. Littleton.”

Mrs. Littleton didn’t glance up, just kept pouring tea. She couldn’t hide, though, the way that her hands were shaking on the kettle. “I was confused,” she said. “Babbling really and, well, Johnny Thompkins just recently became a deputy so he didn’t know how to sort out the panicky ramblings of an old woman from the actual truth of what happened.” And Dean would bet dollars to donuts that that was an absolute line of bull.

“Mrs. Littleton,” Sam said understandingly. “I know this is hard on you. We’re just trying to make sure that we get all the details right, so maybe you could tell us what you told Deputy Thompkins?” ‘Thompkins’ had been the name on the original report—the same report that had mysteriously been sanitized a day later. Thank God for the internet and the whackjob conspiracy nuts it seemed to breed.

“I’ve already told you everything I remember,” Mrs. Littleton said, setting down her teapot. “George went to the woods to chop some firewood, heard a sound and a bear charged him. That’s all I know.”

“You said it was a wolf?” Dean tried.

“Wolves don’t grow that big and from an angle a bear can look like one,” Mrs. Littleton replied automatically, like it’d been rehearsed, delivering the statement to her serving tray and not them.

“Of course,” Sam said. “Mrs. Littleton, did your husband have any enemies?”

She finally glanced at them now that they were on a safer subject. “I don’t think so,” she said and it was right about there that Dean realized that they were going to get nothing. He started to tune her out as she talked some more about her husband and how great a man he had been, complete with his involvement in the church while Sam asked subtle questions that got them absolutely nowhere.

A half hour later, they were back in the Impala and Dean was pulling impatiently at his tie, glad that he could finally get away with taking it off. Damn thing was choking him. “Well that was a big steaming pile of nothing.”

“Hey,” Sam said, “we did manage to confirm that Johnny Thompkins was the original officer. AND that he might know something.”

“AND he’s probably already been carefully coached,” Dean shot back. Dean finally managed to loosen his tie and he pulled it off vengefully.

Sam glanced at him. “She did kind of confirm that she originally saw a wolf, though.”

“So?” Dean muttered distractedly. God, he felt like he could breathe again. He sucked in a big gulp of wonderfully sweet air because whoever had designed ties obviously had had some deep-rooted issues.

“So,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows “that means we’re dealing with a wolf but it’s not a were.”

Dean slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Oh fuck me.” Back to square freaking one. “I guess we start researching rumors of big wolves again?”

“Guess so,” Sam agreed and Dean swore as he started the car. He backed it out of Mrs. Littleton’s farmhouse driveway, passed the white picket fence and headed out onto the road, heading the opposite direction of the hotel. Sam frowned. “Where are we going?”

“To get something to eat, Sammy.” Trust Sam to forget the essentials. He could research anything, spending hours with his nose in a book but remember to eat? Beyond him. “In case you forgot, the cabin’s empty and we’re already halfway to town anyway.” Like hell was Dean going to interview anymore people or go back to the cabin to dig through musty books and the sludge of the internet on an empty stomach.

“You think with your stomach,” Sam accused and Dean pretended to pout, pushing the debacle with Mrs. Barb Littleton out of his mind. He’d never been particularly good at sulking, anyway.

“Now, Sammy, you know that isn’t true. I also think with my dick.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and it was well worth the self-slam to see the look of exasperated disgust on Sam’s face. “You’ll thank me later,” he said, patting Sam’s thigh. Sam just gave a look that had to be worth at least a 6.5 on Dean’s personal Sammy Richter Scale but he apparently didn’t have a retort because he just firmed his jaw and stared out the window.

Miraculously, Sam managed to stay quiet for the rest of the trip into town and Dean drummed his fingers happily against the steering wheel in time with AC/DC. While they were heading into town, too, Dean thought that maybe it would be a good chance to get the lay of the land. Silver Lake was a pitifully small town, with less than a thousand people living in the entire area so hopefully, it wouldn’t be that hard to learn their way around. Small town people could be amazingly closed-mouthed to strangers, much more than big city residents, but there was a plus side: a smaller population meant fewer people for Sam and Dean to make their way through.

Barb Littleton had been a bust, but they still had Deputy Johnny Thompkins, whoever that was, and all the local gossips they could find.

But first, food.

The town proper rose quickly around them, the trees lining the road suddenly stopping and old buildings rising instead, running down the main street. They passed a post office, a hardware store, and a tiny gas station before Dean spotted what looked to be a promising place. Standing back from the road, surrounded by a gravel parking lot, it was a greasy ‘Mom and Pop’ outfit that looked like they wouldn’t have a damn thing even remotely healthy on the menu. Perfect. Sam didn’t say anything about Dean’s choice when they pulled in, but Sam never did. It was always Dad or Dean that chose where to eat because Sam was always well aware that even if he did get the chance to pick, he wouldn’t like whatever place he chose anyway.

In some ways, Dean thought Sam never did grow up from the contrary bitch of a teenager he used to be.

He parked the Impala and smiled at Sam. “Ready?” he asked and Sam grunted, opening the door and sliding out. Dean shrugged and grabbed the keys before following after him.

Bells jingled as they entered the restaurant, announcing them to the entire place and Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as everyone turned to face them. There was just something kind of creepy about small towns, as well—the way that every single person had the ability to blend into one. He let it wash over him, though, because this wasn’t unique to Silver Lake—it was just Smalltown, USA.

There were booths to their left and right, upholstered in red vinyl that looked like it had seen better days, complete with tables that shone brightly in the little bit of sun they got. The floor was carpeted in a dark blue and Dean followed it up to the small bar that sat just off from the center. The few patrons of the place clustered around it and Dean kept his eyes elsewhere, refusing to make eye contact even as, in the back of his mind, he still took note of who was standing there. Two were cops, dressed in brown uniforms and looking at Dean like he’d just broken out of prison. He jerked his head at Sam and they both swung to the right, heading to a booth as far away from the bar as they could easily manage.

Dean slid into the booth easily, already grabbing a menu and spreading it out on the table that rocked unsteadily beneath him. Sam tried to fold himself into the slightly cramped space and Dean grinned to himself, just barely managing not to chuckle when Sam swore softly, his knee having collided with the underside of the table. Sometimes, Dean thought it really wasn’t fair how much taller than him little Sammy had grown, especially when Dean himself was a respectable 6’ 1, but, then again, life really did try its best to occasionally even things out.

Skimming down the menu, Dean saw burgers, burgers, and more burgers with just different variations on toppings and knew that life was awfully damn good. It was better than good. It was _awesome_. Sam, having gotten out his own copy, wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t like a good burger every now then, usually equipped with everything up to and including the kitchen sink, but Dean knew that after spending a few days eating nothing but fast food, Sam usually preferred something a little bit healthier if he actually got a chance to sit down in a restaurant. “Mmm, fried and greasy,” Dean teased. “What are ya thinking about gettin’, Sammy?”

Sam glanced up coolly. “A Caesar salad,” he replied, pointing about half-way down and Dean blinked. He leaned across the table to read Sam’s copy of the menu and frowned, glancing back and forth between his and Sam’s. Then he sat back in the seat and flipped his own menu over. Apparently, Silver Lake’s only eatery liked to hide its healthier choices on the back. Dean couldn’t say he appreciated the deception even if he could understand it. “You should get one, too,” Sam said and Dean snorted.

“Not hardly.” He crossed his arms in front of him, leaning on the table though he narrowed his eyes suspiciously when Sam suddenly flashed his dimples. Glancing up, he saw the waitress approaching and put on his most charming grin as well. Maybe he’d get lucky and he’d get a chance to play a little ‘who does she like best’ with Sam. Dean thought that he had an unfair advantage over Sam in the game, but hey. He wasn’t the one that made Sam play.

She was brunette, with her hair pulled back in a pony tail and dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt. Her little black apron wrapped around her waist with the order book hanging out of one pocket being the only real sign of her actually working here. That and the two glasses of water that she sat in front of them. “Hi, I’m Joanie! What can I get ya?” she asked cheerfully, pulling out her book and glancing between the two of them.

Dean upped the wattage on his smile and leaned forward just enough to get her to focus her attention on him. “Well,” he began, “I—”

“Would like the Caesar Salad,” Sam finished, kicking Dean underneath the table. Dean froze, his mouth hanging open in shock while Sam finished up for them both. “We both would, actually. And water’s fine, thanks.” Sam slid his eyes over to Dean’s, effectively ending their order and Joanie nodded before walking off, jotting it down.

Dean returned Sam’s kick and leaned across the table. “What the fuck was that about?” he hissed. Sam had apparently gone nuts if he thought that Dean was going to be eating rabbit food when there was perfectly acceptable red meat in the nearby vicinity.

Sam’s deceptively innocent smile dipped into something a little more evil. “You could stand to lay off the grease for awhile, Dean,” he said. He glanced down at Dean’s side of the table like maybe he could see through it. “We haven’t exactly been getting much exercise lately and, well…” Dean couldn’t stop the instinctive sucking in of his gut even as he scowled at Sam’s smiling face. Oh, it was so on. He opened his mouth to remark that maybe Sam should start watching what he ate to because, well, he’d been having a hard time keeping up lately, hadn’t he? And probably ‘getting up’ too, though, Dean, of course, couldn’t be sure of that. He never even managed to get the first word out.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a deep voice said and as one Sam and Dean turned towards the stranger that was now standing at the end of the table. Dean raised his eyebrows at the cop that stared back, his shades firmly in place like that made him kind of cool instead of Corey Hart.

“Can we help you, officer?” Dean asked, glad for once to be wearing the monkey suits that they hadn’t changed out of. With his tie off, Dean didn’t quite look the part of the federal agent but he could still pass for an off-duty one or at least a business man and Sam was still every inch of prim and proper. Except for the hair. One of these days, they were going to have to do something about the hair. It was entirely too floofy, curling about Sam’s ears and saying something more like ‘Adorable Party Princess!’ than anything remotely manly.

The cop tipped the brim of his hat a little lower and nodded to the both of them. “Sheriff Jacobson,” he said by way of greeting, more just letting them know his credentials as his voice was short and brisk. “You the guys that stopped in to see Mrs. Littleton today?” the cop asked and Dean sighed internally. The entire town probably already knew who they were because the gossip vines in small towns weren’t just vines—they were damn _weeds_. “Barb was sayin' how some Fed looking guys were asking her all sorts of questions.”

“Is that a problem?” Sam asked calmly and the officer swung his gaze over to focus on Sam.

“No, sir,” the cop replied shortly. “Just that George Littleton was a good man and Barb’s still grieving for him. We wouldn’t want to stir anything up. He was killed by a bear and it’s been taken care of so I’m kinda wondering why you’re here. I know that we don't need any outside help to solve a bear attack. Don't you boys have anything better to do with your time back in Washington?”

“Oh we were just checking out the beautiful scenery of pure Michigan,” Dean said with a smile, unable to help himself. Something about Jacobson's tone was mixing with his usual disregard for authority and threatening to choke him worse than the tie had been doing. Sam kicked him under the table again and Dean just barely managed not to wince. Ouch, damn it.

“We’re not here to stir anything up, Sheriff,” Sam said, trying to gloss over Dean’s smart ass comment and ease the cop’s glare back down from ‘deathray.’ “Just asking a few questions before we submit the report to our superior. You know how it goes.”

Sheriff Jacobson tilted his head back towards Sam. “I know we didn’t ask for any feds,” he repeated coldly. “There's nothing up here for you and I don’t even know why you’d even be out this way. Little sight-seein'? You boys that bored? Leaves are real pretty, I know.”

“Red tape,” Dean retorted, getting to his feet. He knew that Jacobson wasn't going to back down until they left—that's what this was all about and the little questions were just a cover-up. Damn it, anyway. “It’ll drive you nuts.” Straightening, Dean saw with satisfaction that he had at least five inches on Sheriff Jacobson. The officer took a half step backwards and Dean gave him a fake grin before jerking his head at Sam. “I wasn’t all that hungry anyway,” he said. “Can’t eat when I’ve got work to do.”

When Sam stood up, Sheriff Jacobson took another casual step backward and nodded at the both of them. “Well, you two have a good day, then. Enjoy your little stay in Silver Lake. I hear you’re up at the Camdon.”

“Great meeting you,” Dean replied, baring his teeth in a smile. Sam nodded at the sheriff and subtly pushed at Dean’s elbow, trying to stop him from baiting the sheriff further. Dean let Sam push him away, turning and heading back towards the entrance door.

Behind them, Dean heard a furiously hissed, “What the fuck was that about Pete? Those were my customers!”

“Now Joanie—” and the bells drowned out the rest.

Dean stalked over to the car, long strides quickly eating up the distance between him and the Impala. “Fucking Napoleon,” Dean muttered as he opened the door to the Impala. Sam blinked at him and Dean rolled his eyes again, flopping inside the car. “They’re so short they have to get into pissing contests with every tall guy they can find.” He slammed the door behind him.

Sam was quieter as he got in, a bit more thoughtful as he slid into his seat. “I think there’s more to it than just that,” he said. “He doesn’t want us on his turf.”

“Well no shit,” Dean said to the steering wheel. “But he is short.”

Sam rolled his eyes and decided to spell out what they both already knew. “The question is why he doesn’t want us on his turf: is it just territory issues or is he hiding something? Judging by the way the police report was doctored, I’d go with the latter, Dean.”

Trust Sam to completely miss the point in his effort to prove his superior intellect. Of course Jacobson was hiding something—hostile sheriffs usually were. They just didn't know if it had anything to do with the case or was just the sheriff getting paid to cover up the mayor's latest indiscretion. They wouldn't have a clue, either, until they looked into it more. Dean turned to stare at Sam, raising his eyebrows in a 'serious' look. “But. He is short,” he repeated.

Sam sighed. “Yeah. He’s short.” But Dean could finally see a hint of a smile playing around the corners of Sam’s mouth.

Dean beamed and Sam blinked, confused. “So what d’ya say we eat in tonight, Sammy?” He started the car and started backing out of the parking space. In the rearview mirror, he could still see the back of Joanie’s head while she continued to chew out Sheriff Pete Jacobson. “A little quality time with your older brother? I could cook. We could do a little research—you like research.”

Sam slanted him a look. “You want to cook,” he said and it wasn’t a question, more like a disbelieving statement.

Dean faked a hurt glance. “You don’t like my cooking?”

Sam rolled his eyes again—those eyes were going to roll right out of Sam’s head if he wasn’t careful—and glanced in the passenger side mirror, no doubt checking out the same scene Dean was. “Dean, you hate cooking.”

“Correction,” Dean said, putting the Impala into drive and finally pulling out of the parking lot back onto the road. They had actual roads in town, instead of just a glorified two-track. Dean had been surprised. “I don’t like cooking when there’s a perfectly acceptable restaurant nearby,” he finished and Sam quirked a smile.

“Okay,” Sam said, ducking his head to hide the fact that he was laughing. “But we should probably follow up on a few of these leads first.”

Sam had a point but that didn’t mean Dean had to like it. He sighed. “Great.”

Sam shrugged. “So I’m thinking that if the sheriff is down at the local diner…”

“…That we should hit the station while he’s gone,” Dean finished and Sam nodded. “Sounds good to me.” Dean hung a left, heading towards where he thought he remembered the station being when they’d first gone through town. It was a squat, solid brown building just after the house with the convention of lawn gnomes in the front yard.

There was another thing Dean didn’t understand: people who insisted on having twenty million of those tacky little fuckers in their yard, gardening and doing all types of cutesy shit. One, it was way too fucking much and two, Dean would bet a thousand bucks that if one of these middle-aged housewives with the lawn gnome obsession ever met a real gnome, she wouldn’t be wanting to put them in her garden. Especially not after they tried to put _her_ in the garden, instead. Gnomes had a thing for burying crap and usually the more alive it was, the better.

After a few minutes of not spotting the pointy-hatted bastards, though, Dean had to face the fact that maybe, _possibly_ , he’d made a wrong turn somewhere. Sam was full-on looking him, eyebrows raised but Dean wasn’t going to admit to anything. He was going to keep driving until he found it, damn it. He turned right, pulling onto another street.

Dean slammed on the brakes as a teenager darted out in front of the car. The brakes squealed and the Impala swerved but it stopped just in front of the kid who smacked the hood, staring at Dean with black-rimmed eyes ringed. “Fuck…” Dean breathed. The kid just blinked at them, apparently now that he had almost _died_ , finally realizing that he was in the middle of a street. All the peroxide in the kid’s hair to get it to that platinum blond color must have scrambled his damn brains. “You should watch we’re you’re fu—”

Sam gripped Dean’s arm, cutting him off and the kid flittered away like fucking Bambi, dodging around a few parked cars and disappearing behind the nearest building. Dean shook Sam off. “Did you just fucking _see_ that? Kid ran out in front of me!”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, but, Dean, look!” He pointed out the window towards the street corner and Dean swore.

“Oh, son of a bitch…” Jacobson was standing there, glancing around like he’d lost something. “How the Hell did he beat us here?”

Sam gave him a flat look. “Well it’s not like we actually knew where we were going.”

“Of course I knew where I was going—!”

“Dean, we’ve been driving around in circles!” Oh, hell no. They hadn’t actually made one circle and Sam knew it!

“Are you saying you want to drive, Sam? Is that it? Is this your girly passive-aggressive shit again? ‘You never let me drive so I’m going to cry until you do?’”

“What?” Sam’s jaw dropped. “No! I’m just saying that it’s possible for Jacobson to have—you know what? Whatever.” Dean nodded. Yeah, that was right. Sam better fucking drop it. “Dean, what if it’s us he’s looking for?”

Dean glanced back over at the sheriff who’d started walking down the street towards—fucking A—the police station. “Then I’d say that he’s blind as a bat and we don’t have anything to worry about. We were right in front of him and, in case you haven’t noticed, Sam, the car’s not exactly one you’d _miss_.” Sam didn’t need to be dissing the Impala like that.

“It’s a possibility.”

“It’s also a possibility,” Dean stated, moving the car forward again, “that he was looking to arrest that kid for jaywalking.” Sam’s lips thinned. “Anyway, obviously the police station is out.” Judging by Jacobson's little performance back in the diner, he wouldn't let them have anything at the station. “Where to now?” Sam didn’t answer so Dean glanced over him. “Oh come on. You’re not going to throw a fit over this, are you?”

Sam rolled his eyes like he wasn’t sitting over there planning on peeing on Dean’s bed later. “Johnny Thompkins was our best shot. Maybe we should head back and talk to Brian.”

“The inn-keeper? Oh, hell no.” Dean just had visions of Brian actually offering that sponge bath—rolled up sleeves and all. “I don’t think I could take watching him hit on you again. We’ll save him for tomorrow. Maybe I won’t be so traumatized, then.”

Sam grinned, quick and sudden. “You mean you just don’t want Brian to stare at your ass in that suit.”

Dean glared at Sam. “Yeah, well maybe _you_ should stop staring at my ass. You’re the one that noticed it.” Dean made another right, heading back to the main street of Silver Lake. “Screw it. We’re going to go get something to eat. I’m hungry.”

“At the diner?”

“No,” Dean said, shooting Sam another dirty look. “I’d said I’d cook, didn’t I? Unless you want to eat mice and dust, Sammy, that means we’ve got to do some shopping.”

And that meant the local grocery store. Dean made another turn, pulling on to the main drag. They could spend the rest of the night researching the Big Bad Wolf and then maybe tomorrow brave Brian’s grabby hands before coming back into town to rile up Sheriff Jacobson a little bit more by asking some more questions. Dean briefly debated if he was just going to throw some sandwiches together or try to go all out but he knew already that he was definitely going to try for something a little bit more highbrow than just hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. It’d be worth it for the look on Sam’s face.

Again, it really wasn’t that Dean couldn’t cook. Or even that he particularly hated it. It was just more that he never really had the time and fuck, why even bother when for a few bucks more you could have someone go through all the hassle for you? Plus, there was always the chance of being able to tumble the waitress if she was cute. That was a much better way to spend time than cooking.

They pulled into the parking lot of what was creatively called “The General Store” and headed inside. Dean refused to grab a cart—1, he wasn’t that old and 2, he absolutely could not let himself be seen pushing one—but, luckily, Sam, like the girl Dean’d always known he was, had a fetish for shopping and so didn’t mind pushing the cart. Dean walked a good two feet in front of him, pretending like he didn’t know who the crazy man stalking him with the shopping cart was even as he secretly threw items into the basket. Sam, for his part, was a pretty good sport about the whole thing—didn’t even make the comments on Dean’s choices that Dean was expecting.

Sam only raised an eyebrow a few times in the store. He’d started off with pointing out that Dean might actually want to pick up some healthy food for once instead of just chips and junk food but ended up following Dean around as Dean picked up random ingredients. Nothing fancy but yeah, Dean wasn’t ten anymore. He could cook Sammy something better than just spaghetti-o’s. Hell, maybe he’d even cook Sam that vegetarian lasagna that the freak was so incredibly fond of. For the life of him, Dean would never be able to understand Sam’s utter love of what should be considered a truly borked recipe but food was food and really, who was he to judge? The only reason Sam only got it once a blue moon wasn’t because of Dean’s general disdain for it but rather the time it took to put together. Hunters usually didn’t operate on that kind of schedule and again: who had time to cook?

The store itself was tiny, with only seven aisles, though it certainly tried to pack the whole world onto its overstuffed shelves. Each aisle was narrow, with just barely enough room for two carts to push beside each other if you didn’t mind bumping something off the shelf. Every time they turned a corner, Dean hoped that no one would be in the aisle or, if there was, that said person would hurry up.

Luckily for them, it took them until aisle 5 to actually find anyone. Dean was looking at the different brands of spaghetti sauce, wondering what the damn difference was when he heard Sam say, “Oh, excuse me,” and the scuffle of the cart being scooted over. Dean turned and damn near fell over onto his ass.

The girl was gorgeous in that small-town, girl next-door kind of way, with long brown hair waving past her shoulders, a leather jacket, and a gray turtleneck that he had to say brought out the best in her boobs. Dean grinned. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said back, adding a small smile of her own.

“So—”

“No,” the girl said and Dean blinked, surprised.

“What?”

“Whatever you were going to ask,” she explained flatly, the smile gone, “the answer’s no.”

Dean ducked his head, staring at the floor ‘cause that was just _harsh._ He hadn't even _said_ anything. “I was just—”

“You’re the feds,” she said, interrupting him again.

“I—uh…” Yeah, Dean had nothing for that. That _was_ what they were playing.

“And you talked to Mrs. Littleton, today. I don’t know why you insist on dragging her through that again—her husband’s dead! She needs time to heal.”

Sam—the bastard—was giggling at the floor while Dean was busy crashing and burning. He gaped like a fish for a few moments while the girl turned on her nicely-shod heel and stalked away. Dean shook himself before grabbing a random can of sauce off the shelf and dropping it into the cart. “It’s not funny, Sam,” Dean muttered, still wondering where exactly he'd gone so wrong during that little exchange.

“Oh I think it’s hilarious,” Sam said and laughed even harder. “You just failed miserably—she shot you down _good_.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad this is all amusing to you.” Dean grabbed a hold of the cart, dragging it behind him. “Get a move on Sam, we don’t got all day.”

The dumbshit was still laughing when they went through the register and Dean rolled his eyes, exasperated as he held open the door for a blond-haired kid in a jean jacket as they walked out. Sam threw his few bags of food into the backseat of the Impala and Dean leaned up against her side, smiling.

“You’re not James Dean,” Sam said and Dean threw him a smile over his shoulder.

“Why do you got to be so mean, Sammy?”

“Because otherwise your ego wouldn’t fit in the car,” Sam replied, opening the Impala’s front passenger door. “Can we go back to the cabin now?”

Dean waved a hand because, yeah, they did have a job to do and all but sometimes it was just worth it to see the bitchy look on Sam’s face. He had some doozies. “Yeah, sure, just gotta go take a leak first.” Sam didn’t disappoint, rolling his eyes and sinking into the Impala with a sigh. Dean laughed, heading back into the store, in a good mood for once because, hey, just because their locale sucked didn’t mean they had to be depressed.

The cashier smiled at him as he passed by on the way to the restroom and Dean smiled back. She was pretty with her hair back in braids though she hardly looked old enough to be running a register. Whistling tunelessly to himself, Dean pushed open the bathroom door, holding it briefly for a kid looking like Billy Idol in a jean jacket, permanently stuck in the 80s, to catch it before planting himself in front of a urinal and unzipping his jeans. He nearly moaned as he finally let loose ‘cause it was just that good but he remembered at the last second that he wasn’t exactly alone. He didn’t need to be spooking the poor kid that had followed in.

He chuckled to himself, mentally imaging the scenario even as he called himself a freak.

His head slammed against the wall, his body shoved off balance and pushed over. The floor rushed up to meet Dean with open arms, the tile jarring his shoulder as he tried an abortive, last minute roll only to find that the sudden weight on his back wouldn’t let him. Confused and panicked, Dean writhed against the floor, trying to throw off his unknown attacker. A cruel, mocking chuckle was all he got, followed by another bash of his head against the floor. Dean groaned, his body going slack as he was rolled over. He blinked dazedly up at spiky blond hair and a jean jacket on a kid that couldn’t have been older than 19.

_What the fuck?_ Dean tried to get his mouth to work, to say the words, but all that came out with a mumbled “Wha-un-k…”

“Shh…” the kid said with a smile, placing a finger over Dean’s lips. Dean blinked again. “You’ve got a very pretty face,” the kid continued and right about there, Dean started losing interest. His head lolled to the side, mind trying to check out because, Jesus, if he was going to get raped on the dirty floor of a public restroom by a kid just barely out of puberty, he shouldn’t be expected to stick around, right? The kid apparently had other plans, though, and shook Dean. “Nu-uh,” he said. “No, you need to be awake for this…” He smacked Dean lightly on the cheek before cupping Dean’s face and forcing him to meet the kid’s black-rimmed eyes. When he spoke again, his voice sounded different. Echo-y. Dean frowned, trying to piece it all together in his scrambled brain as the kid stared into his goddamned soul for crying out loud.

“You’ve been looking where you shouldn’t have been. Should have left it alone. Shouldn't have even come here, just like those girls,” the kid told him, deep and smooth and impossibly older than he looked. “So I'm going to give you a little present. Dean. Just like I gave them.” With that, the kid was suddenly kissing him, all eager, soft lips and presumptuous demanding tongue sliding into Dean’s mouth. Dean choked, bucking up, instinctively trying to fight back against the unwelcome invader. He grunted and shoved at the kid but he had all the strength of a wet noodle and was just about as effective as one. The kid bore down on Dean’s hips, rubbing against Dean’s exposed dick and making him, despite his reluctance, stand up and salute.

Dean’s lips tingled when he was finally released, a soft burn beneath the skin and he stared at the smiling face above him even as his tongue flickered at the ache over and over. He couldn’t stop himself, not when each twinge was answered in his dick. All he knew was that he wanted more. With a whimper, Dean tried to sit up, tried to wrap his arms around the angel above him but he was gently pushed back down. “How about,” the boy whispered, slowly pushing himself up, “you go show your brother a good time? Somewhere safe. Quiet. Somewhere where no one will disturb you, hmm? Somewhere were you can be all alone.”

Dean nodded. He understood. He had to find Sam. Had to find Sam and go somewhere safe and quiet. His entire body still screamed but instead of burning for the angel’s touch, it wanted Sam’s. Sam, Sam, Sam.

Dean shoved himself onto his knees, awkwardly jolting to his feet and the angel laughed, helping him up. “You’re a mess,” he said, smoothing Dean’s hair. Dean nodded and tried to kiss him again. The boy pulled away, laughing, dropping a quick finger on Dean’s lips that made him moan, made his hips jerk. “None of that. Save it for your brother, remember? Remember, Dean?”

Dean nodded again. Yeah. “Sammy…”

“There you go,” the angel praised, “that’s a good boy,” and Dean’s body heated. He was a good boy—he was. The angel ran a hand over Dean’s forehead, wiping away sweat and blood and pain. “That’s better,” he said, tucking Dean back into his pants like he was a child and zipping him up. “Good as new. Now off you go.” He turned Dean around, shoving at his shoulders and Dean haltingly plodded to the door. Yeah. He had to go find Sammy. There was a peeling laugh behind him, but Dean didn’t turn around. He had to go find Sammy.

He could smell Sam—close but yet too far away—too, too, too far away—and he blindly followed it. Had to go find Sammy.

“Sir, are you okay?” a voice asked, a hand hovering at his elbow like it wanted to touch but wasn’t sure what would be allowed.

“’m fine,” Dean mumbled, veering away and heading towards the sliding doors where Sam’s smell was getting stronger. It was cinnamon and pepper and burnt chocolate—spicy and bitter but still sweet and underneath it was just a smell of home. A smell of promises and love and unyielding acceptance. It was perfect and he had to have more.

“Sir?” the voice asked again but Dean ignored it, wobbling outside. The Impala, smelling of safety and reassurance, was parked to the right and Dean went to it, not stopping until his shins hit the front fender and he bent over the hood.

“Dean?” Sam’s perfect voice asked over the creak of the Impala’s door and Dean whimpered. Sammy. Sammy was here. So close. So damn close…

With a lurch, Dean shoved himself off the car, throwing himself towards Sam. “Dean!” Long, strong arms wrap around Dean, pulling him against solid chest and into direct contact with the overwhelming scent of Sam. “What happened?” Sam demanded but Dean didn’t have the words to answer. He shook his head, nuzzling against Sam’s chest. Sam was wearing too many clothes. He had to—safe. He had to find someplace safe. Dean wrenched himself away, digging into his pocket for the keys. He had to find someplace quiet.

“Dean,” Sam said, the concern in his voice making Dean’s chest squeeze tight. Sam’s hands clenched tight on Dean’s upper arms and his knees wanted to buckle.

_It’s okay, Sammy,_ Dean wanted to say. _Everything’s fine._ But first he had to find someplace safe. His tongue seemed stuck in his mouth, though, heavy and useless and the world was passing by in a dull haze. “Home?” he tried hopefully.

“Dean, what’s wrong? What just happened?” Sam shook him, making Dean hiss. The world was spinning way too fast.

_Nothing’s wrong, Sammy. We’re fine. Dad’ll be home soon._ “Home…”

Sam swallowed and Dean just barely managed to keep himself from pitching forward into Sam’s arms again, just barely stopped from burying his nose in Sam’s broad chest, from reaching up to grab Sam’s face and bring him down for a taste. Just a taste. He wanted to see if Sam tasted like he smelled—if he tasted just as good. Dean rocked forward, his willpower breaking. He needed to find someplace quiet soon. He couldn’t wait. He had to share the angel’s gift with Sam soon. His lips felt ready to burst they were tingling so much. He licked them again, groaning when an answering zing pulsed through his dick.

Sam glanced to the left and to the right, checking for what Dean didn’t know, before snatching the keys from Dean. “Let’s get out of here,” Sam said, pushing Dean towards the Impala.

Dean nodded, fully on board with that and tried to wrap himself around Sam. Sam felt so good next to him—solid, comforting warmth—just as good as he smelled. Sam pushed him away, dumping Dean into the Impala’s seat and ignoring Dean’s whimper. He stared at him, jaw working and Dean tried to push himself up, to get close to Sam again, to wipe the worry out of Sam’s eyes and replace it with something warmer. “’M fine, Sammy…” he said and Sam barked a harsh laugh.

“Sure you are.”

Dean frowned, confused again and he felt his throat close up when the door to the Impala slammed shut, trapping him inside the car and separating him from Sam. He threw himself against the door, trying to shove it open but not quite remembering how. He had to find Sammy!

“Dean! Dean!” A hand shook his shoulder and Dean whipped around to stare at Sam’s big brown eyes as Sam entered the Impala from the other side. That was right. The Impala had two doors, didn’t it? Maybe more.

Dean licked his lips again and flung himself across the seat to cling to Sam’s side. “Sammy…” He wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, rocking his body against Sam. Sam was everything Dean ever needed. He was the only thing Dean ever needed. He was perfect and safe and home. Love and acceptance and warmth. They just needed to find someplace safe and quiet and Dean would be able to show Sam how good he was. His body was humming, low and insistent and Dean whimpered, burying his face against Sam’s jacket.

“It’s okay,” Sam said and Dean wanted to smooth the anger and the worry out of his voice. Sam was here; they were fine; didn’t Sam know that? “Everything’s going to be fine.” Of course it was. Sammy was here. They were heading home. “I’ll take care of you.” Sam did that just by breathing.

Sam’s voice continued on, whispering reassurances to Dean and Dean got lost in the haze of pleasure they wrapped him in. He drifted in and out of the pure Sam-ness that surrounded him, even as the thrum of his body grew more and more insistent. The Impala echoed underneath him, rumbling to match the tingle in his nerves and Dean really hoped that they were close to somewhere safe.

A hand shook Dean out of his fugue and Dean realized that the Impala was stopped, through the engine was still running. He blinked up at Sam’s sad, puppy dog eyes, reaching a hand to smooth back his hair. Sam caught the hand, breath shuddering as the smell of burnt spice filled the Impala’s interior. Dean moaned, knowing what he had to do and he leaned up to kiss Sam.

The Impala’s door opened with a scream and Sam jumped out, leaving Dean to fall onto the seat that Sam had just been sitting in. He groaned, pushing himself to his knees on the leather, staring at Sam. “Sammy…”

Sam’s jaw clenched and he reached down to yank Dean out of the car, just barely letting Dean get his feet underneath him before dragging him towards the cabin that Dean distantly remembered that they were staying in. Perfect. Safe and quiet. No one would disturb them.

Sam was amazing.

The door of the cabin closed behind Dean, Sam locking it before he turned around. “Don’t worry, Dean—” he started but that was all he got out. They were someplace safe and quiet and Dean was about to explode.

Dean launched himself at Sam, the haze of his mind clearing to focus with pinpoint accuracy on Sam, Sam, Sammy. Sam stumbled as Dean slammed into him, banging back against the door. “Dean—” Dean sealed his lips over Sam’s, finally pressing the aching tingle of his lips against Sam’s warm perfection. It was exactly where he needed to be. Sam struggled, trying to shove him away but Dean didn’t know why. So he whimpered and pressed in closer, rocking his hips up against Sam and cupping his face. Sam had to know that they had to do this. They had to. This was the only thing that would make Dean whole. He had to show Sam what he meant to Dean. Had to show him a good time. A perfect time. The tingle of his lips was spreading to his entire body and Sam’s mouth against his felt like high voltage.

Sam’s struggles ceased and suddenly Dean was being turned to slam against the wall of the cabin, Sam’s massive hands running down Dean’s back to cup his ass. Oh, yes. Yes, this was perfect. Dean moaned and wrapped a leg around Sam, hooking it around his waist, and jumped up to wrap his other one around, too. Sam held him up effortlessly, arms cradling Dean’s body.

The scent of Sam was even more overpowering—that cinnamon and chocolate smell was back, threading through the deep musk of what Dean instinctually knew was arousal. It made him moan in surrender. He was ready. He was more than ready.

Sam carried Dean back to the back bedroom, Dean rocking against him insistently, hopefully. This was perfect, just what they needed. Dean broke his lips free of Sam’s to mouth down Sam’s neck, sucking on the vulnerable skin. Sam groaned and, like it was a release valve, they both fell, bouncing onto the bed. Sam landed on top of Dean, long limbs sprawling over him and Dean purred at how good it felt to be under Sam. “Sammy…” he whispered and leaned up to kiss Sam again.

There was no holding back from Sam now. Sam kissed like a thing possessed as he spread Dean’s legs to rock hard against him. Dean whimpered, meeting him at each thrust, feeling Sam’s hard cock pressing against him. _Yes._

Sam’s hands were everywhere, too, stripping off Dean’s clothes and running over his bare skin. With not even having a hope of keeping up with all the places Sam was touching, Dean let himself lay back and enjoy the ride. He moaned and shivered appreciatively, moving wherever Sam put him as he let Sam run the show. Sammy always did like to be in control. It was perfect.

Sam fumbled into Dean’s pants and Dean jerked, hissing at the too pleasurable touch of Sam’s skin on his dick. They were taking too long. Much too long. He kicked at Sam, shoving him back to get enough room to tug off the jeans and throw them in the corner. Sam watched him with dark, hungry eyes, pupils dilated as he shed his own clothes before jumping back on top of Dean. Dean wiggled happily because even the lightest of Sam’s brushes against his body were setting him on fire. He wound his arms around Sam’s neck, dragging him down for more desperate kisses as Sam found his cock again.

Sam pumped him slow but firm, his big hand encircling Dean completely as he stroked. Dean whined, starting to tremble, and they had to get on with this. He wasn’t going to last. He shoved two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them and getting them wet before he moved his hand between his legs, right beside Sam’s and going lower, to push a finger into himself. “Sammy…” he whispered.

Sam’s groan was half pleasure and half pain. “Dean.”

Dean licked his lips and pushed a second finger inside. It hurt but the burn was so sweet. Even sweeter still was the thought that soon it wasn’t going to be his fingers fucking him. “Sammy… Need you…”

“God, Dean.” Sam’s head fell forward to land against Dean’s shoulder as Sam’s breathing turned ragged.

“Now,” Dean continued. Didn’t Sam understand that he couldn’t wait? It had to be now, now, now!

In a flash, Sam was up off of him and Dean was left whining in disappointment. He tried to push himself up to see where Sam might have gone to but before he could Sam was back, bearing him down to the bed, covering him. Dean rocked his hips against Sam eagerly, his hard cock sliding against Sam’s naked stomach. “Dean,” Sam groaned. “You’re going to hate me in the morning.”

That was just ridiculous. Dean had never hated Sam. Couldn’t. And he certainly wouldn’t start for something like this… Sam was talking nonsense again. Dean whined and wiggled his hips, plunging his fingers in and fucking himself, hoping to tempt Sam into getting on with it. Sam groaned and shuddered, his eyes closing as he breathed in slow measured gasps. Then Dean’s hand was ripped away and Sam was lining himself up, his dick already slicked with lube.

Dean arched with an encouraging moan. His entire body felt like it was on fire, burning up. He needed Sam. Needed him now. He had to show Sam a good time. He had to do this for Sammy.

Sam pushed in, slow and easy until impatience caused Dean to wrap his legs around Sam and drag him closer. Sam hissed as he sunk in while Dean’s eyes opened wide. He felt like he was being split in two. Sam’s cock was huge; why hadn’t he ever noticed this before? And God, it felt perfect. “God, Dean…” Sam said, turning his head away. “I can’t…”

“Move, Sammy…” Dean whispered, rolling his hips against Sam. Sam gasped and jerked his hips, his cock sliding so sweetly inside of Dean. “Mmm!” Dean moaned, hands reaching out to claw at Sam’s shoulders. “Yeah…” His voice squeaked at the tail end of the word as Sam thrust in again, hips pulling back for a good hard slam against Dean and Dean found he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to form words anymore.

Sam growled and fucked like a beast, all hard bruising grips, nipping teeth, and demanding rolls of his hips. Dean moaned and twisted beneath him, desperate to ride him out, feeling his body burning hotter and hotter with each passing minute. He felt like he was going to explode, to split and burst over the walls and he wasn’t quite sure what was holding him together.

Sam’s angle changed, him leaning more fully over Dean as he rocked into him and Sam’s hand grabbed a hold of Dean’s cock, stroking it strong and sure. Dean’s eyes opened wide but he saw nothing but white as he came.

“Fuck—” Sam bite off, fucking harder and Dean panted as he tried to come down from the damn ceiling already. Each thrust of Sam’s felt like another mini-orgasm, dragging it out and Dean bit his lip to stop from sobbing. Finally Sam grunted and came, pulsing inside of Dean. Dean breathed once, twice, and then the world went away.

Somewhere, far away, he thought he could hear laughter.

 

  
[Part 1](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143165.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 3](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143694.html)  



	3. dragonspell

  
[Part 2](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143581.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 4](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143973.html)  


 

That was definitely the sound of birds chirping. It was fairly distant and vague but still entirely way too cheerful for Dean’s current mood. He groaned and buried his head against his pillow, pulling the covers over himself. He had no idea what time it was, just that he was sure that it was way too damn early. He felt warm and comfortable and, God, _sated_. He blinked at the last one, eyes staring blearily at the blank cabin wall as he fuzzily wondered if he’d gotten laid last night. He certainly didn’t remember it if he had. Matter of fact, the last thing he really remembered was going shopping with Sam and Dean didn’t remember any girls particularly coming on to him in there. Quite the opposite, really.

But somehow he was back at the cabin, in bed hours later—lying on his side and buried under mounds of covers. Despite being annoyed that the birds had woken him up—fucking hick towns in the countryside anyway—Dean smiled smugly. Apparently he’d been the one who got the bed last night. He was willing to bet that the couch out in the common room wasn’t nearly as comfortable. He sighed, shoving in deeper under the covers to hide from the thin stream of sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains and reached downward to scratch his balls. Before he got there, though, he finally noticed the hand clutched possessively over his stomach.

Dean’s brain came online in a matter of seconds, all signs of sleep blinked away as he gently touched the hand posed on his body. He traced the lines of the hand and winced. Oh Christ on a pogo stick. The body part was definitely way too big to belong to a girl. _What the Hell had he got up to last night anyway?_ And, more importantly, _how much did Sammy know?_

That last question ranked higher on the list because Dean was deciding that he wouldn’t be freaked out by the gay thing—it’d happened before, he’d admit it (once or twice)—but the thought of disappointing Sam, frankly, terrified him. If Dean was laying in bed with a strange guy then that meant that either Sam had not come back to the room or Dean had kicked him out and neither was a good option.

The bed shifted as a bulk behind Dean moved, snuffling sleepily. Dean froze, trying very hard not to panic. He wasn’t any good at the morning after routine. Kind of sucked at it, actually. Unless, of course, it was supposed to be a weekend gig, and then, well, that was alright because you knew that the only reason the other person stuck around was because they’d be out of there first thing Sunday morning. One night stands, on the other hand, weren’t exactly supposed to stay the night. They were supposed to leave and never be seen again which is why Dean usually always went to _their_ place instead of the motel room. Not only did that make it easier on Sam not getting kicked out of the motel room for a bit but also it meant that Dean could just leave whenever he felt like it and never have to worry about a situation like this.

Dean swore under his breath, wondering if he could extricate himself from the guy’s clutches before he woke up. Dean definitely wanted to be wearing pants for when he kicked the guy out and groveled at Sam's feet and judging by the way the sheets were rubbing against his cock, he wasn’t even wearing underwear. Dean stretched quietly, trying to slither out from under the guy’s hand, and winced at the pull on the muscles in his ass. Fucking damn it. Apparently he hadn’t topped last night, either.

Dean inched towards the edge of the bed but the guy behind him grunted in protest and dragged him back against a solidly muscled chest. Okay, then. Apparently that was out. Dean sighed and resigned himself to waking up with his unwelcome bed partner instead of quietly slipping out of bed to disappear into the bathroom. …And maybe get the come out of his ass Dean thought with a wince as he squirmed. Ew.

The guy behind Dean, moved his hips closer, spooning Dean completely and, yeah, it kind of felt nice but that was definitely a cock poking Dean in the ass. And Sammy was probably in the other room, sulking. Great. Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten before plastering what he hoped was a convincing smile on his face and turning his head towards the guy. “Hey…” he started. “So you think you could…maybe…?”

“Dean?” a sleepy voice asked him and Dean’s blood ran cold because he knew that voice. “’somethin’ wrong?”

Dean was out of the bed like a shot, Sam’s restraining arm be damned, tripping over the sheets as he dashed for the corner of the room. “Dean?!” Dean dared a glance back at Sam, to see him sitting up, worry and confusion on his face. Dean swallowed hard, taking in the sight of Sam sans covers, all solid chest and smooth skin and _God_ he was going to Hell. It was about then that Sam noticed he was naked, staring down in horror at himself and Dean choked back a noise and ran out of the room and straight into the bathroom.

He was going to be sick. He was so completely going to be sick. Dean hit his knees in front of the toilet and fucking willed his guts to toss their damn cookies. He dry-heaved, his stomach roiling and his throat aching but nothing but a string of spit came out. “Fuck,” he gasped, clutching the rim. “Oh, fuck…”

What the hell had he been _drinking_? Dean desperately searched his mind but he couldn’t remember a damn thing about last night besides what he already knew. Oh, sure, there were some flashes here and there of some real mind-blowing pleasure but he honestly couldn’t remember any details. Shopping, check, and then fucking lights out. “Fuck,” he swore again, quieter this time.

God, he’d just fucked his brother, hadn’t he? Or his brother’d fucked him, whatever. And he’d liked it. Dean can’t be sure he’d liked it, doesn’t really remember a detail like that, but his body’s certainly not complaining, so that only really leaves one real option.

For a fuck-up in general, he’d really fucked up good. What the hell did you say about that? Sorry, man, I must have been real out of it last night? Who accidentally, drunkenly fucks their brother anyway? Who accidentally fucks their _baby_ brother?

“Fuck!” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, pulling at it. How the hell was he going to get through this one? What the fuck was he supposed to do? And Sam. Fuck, _Sammy_ …how was he going to be able to look him in the eye after this? And of course Sam was going to want to fucking talk—

Christ, he was filthy too. Dean rubbed at his arms, wishing that he could just scrape his skin off. Dried sweat coated his body as well as a few things Dean didn’t want to think about.

He couldn’t go back out into that room. He knew he’d have to eventually but, Jesus, please, he just needed a little time to think, to figure out what the hell he was going to do. Grimacing in distaste at his body, Dean turned towards the tub. Fuck, but a shower sounded good right now. It sounded _unbelievably_ good right now. Not that it would help, he knew, but _fuck!_

Determinedly telling himself that he wasn’t going to freak and pass out, Dean stepped into the tub, hands reaching out to touch the slick surface of the tile on the wall surrounding it. He ran his fingers along the tiny white squares, following the patterns in the grout as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Again. Yeah. Yeah, a shower would be good. He blindly searched for the controls before he remembered something key.

They didn’t have a shower. “Christ…” Dean whispered. His skin was crawling, though, so he sank down into the tub and turned on the water before fumbling for the stopper. It slipped through his fingers, bouncing off the white porcelain and rolling to rest against his foot. He grabbed at it, shoving it into place and holding it down with one hand while he cranked the valve of the running water to as hot as he could stand.

He hadn’t taken a bath in damn near twenty years. At least not one that didn’t have somebody else in the tub with him. He splashed his hand in the pooling water and tried not to think about those times. Or any time spent in a bath. Or anything at all, really.

The water was just this side of bearable, nearly searing but Dean thought it was stupidly fitting. Fuck, wasn’t like he was going to feel hotter in Hell, anyway. Might as well get used to it, right?

What would Dad—

Dean kicked viciously at the side of the tub. Dad was fucking dead and it was a damn good thing because this would have probably killed him. Somehow, Dean didn’t think that this would be at all what Dad had in mind by “take care of your brother, Dean.” Matter of fact, it was the exact fucking opposite, wasn’t it?

Dean splattered some of the scorchingly hot water onto his skin, scraping at himself with his fingernails, dead skin scratching off in flakes. He dug in a little harder, using the pain to distance himself from a growing kernel inside of him that felt more than just a little like a bit of soul-wrenching guilt. ‘Cause it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough of that already.

There was a soft knock at the door and Dean’s head snapped up to stare at it. “Dean?” Sam’s voice asked tentatively, floating over the sound of the tub’s rushing water. “Can…I come in?”

And have to make eye contact? Oh hell no. “No,” Dean said flatly, resuming his attempts to peel his skin off.

There was a moment of silence and then Sam asked, “…Are you okay?”

Dean’s face twisted into a snarl as he slammed his fists down against the bottom of the tub, displaced water splashing the sides. “What the fuck kind of question is that, Sam? Why the _fuck_ would I be okay?” He’d had sex with his brother! While he was sure that wasn’t in the definition of ‘not okay,’ he knew it wouldn’t exactly be found under ‘just peachy,’ either!

“Dean, we have to talk.”

Yeah, he knew that that was exactly what Sam would want. “No we don’t,” Dean growled, twisting the water off and standing up. Wasn’t like he was fucking get anywhere here and frankly, he’d rather not be touching himself if Sam was going to insist on talking about this. Actually, he’d rather not be _naked_. He grabbed a threadbare towel off the little shelf to his right and stepped out of the tub to quickly dry himself.

Locking himself in the bathroom wasn’t going to do him any fucking good and he knew that.

“Dean—”

“No! Damn it, Sam!” Dean wrapped the towel around his waist and ripped open the door. “We’re not going to fucking talk about this!”

Sam widened his eyes, no doubt startled by Dean deciding to come out of the bathroom, and Dean pushed him out of the way, striding across the room to grab a pair of jeans out of the duffle sitting in the living room area. Dean knew he’d feel a lot better if he had some clothes on. Muttering to himself about how they needed to get to a laundry mat, Dean pulled out the relatively clear pair of pants and yanked them on.

No, they were _going_ to just pretend that everything was normal even if it wasn’t and then pretty soon it _would_ be, right? And if Dean didn’t drop his towel until after he had his jeans completely zipped when normally he would have tossed it onto Sam’s bed as soon as he walked out of the bathroom, well, they weren’t going to talk about _that_ , either.

Dean pulled out a shirt as well and pulled it over his head, feeling more than a little bit like he was putting on armor. But, again, not talking about it! He squared his shoulders before finally turning to face Sam, as prepared as he’d ever be.

Sam’s face had taken on that particularly mulish cast that used to drive Dad nuts and his arms were crossed. “I really think we should, Dean,” he said.

Christ, he’d fucked that. Or that had fucked him—whatever! “Yeah, well I don’t,” Dean shot back, glaring. “It happened; I’m sorry; we still have a job to do!” Dean paused, taking a deep breath even as the echo of his words rattled around in his head. “Put some clothes on, Sam. We’ve got stuff to do today.” Dean could hear Sam grinding his teeth from ten feet away but after one last scowl, Sam turned, grabbing his bag and disappearing into the bathroom. When the door slammed behind him, Dean finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Fuck,” he whispered, sinking down onto the couch. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was still the question of what the fuck had gone on because Dean didn’t think he had ever been drunk enough that he’d forgotten exactly _how_ he’d gotten drunk. And then, of course, there was always the ‘what the _fuck_ was _wrong_ with him? He’d slept with Sam! And not just in the brotherly kind of way, either.

Dean desperately scanned through his mind for even a hint of a why and came up with absolutely nothing, zip, nadda, zilch. There was that stupid kernel of guilt deep inside him and a faint, strange tingling along his nerves but Dean was willing to write that latter one up as a side-effect of last night’s events. Apparently, Sammy was pretty damn good in bed.

Dean smacked himself in the forehead for even daring to think that. Christ, what the hell?

Yeah, there still was the job because unless Dean had _really_ been out of it last night, they hadn’t gotten a hell of a lot accomplished. Barb Littleton was off the list of things to do, but that still left Brian and the deputy and weren’t he and Sam supposed to do research last night? What the fuck had happened to _that_ plan?

Dean glanced up instinctively when the bathroom door opened again but slid his eyes away before Sam could notice that he was even looking. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could still see Sam scowling. Dean cleared his throat. “So, should we research or go interview some people?” he asked.

“At the moment? Neither.”

Dean flicked his eyes back to Sam to glare. When the hell had Sam found time to get built like that anyway? “What do you mean ‘neither’?”

“I mean, Dean,” Sam growled, “that you weren’t exactly yourself last night and we should talk about that.”

Dean exploded, leaping off the couch and throwing his hands to the side. “Damn it, Sam, I said we weren’t talking about that!”

“And I say we are!” Sam, at 6’ 4” had just a few inches on Dean but by God did he know how to use them sometimes. Sam stepped up to Dean’s face, doing his best to loom but Dean liked to think that he didn’t let it get to him. Sam, though, didn’t allow him the illusion. He placed his hands on Dean’s chest and shoved him backward onto the couch.

Overbalanced, Dean bounced against the thin cushions and came up snarling. Like fuck he was going to be let Sam pull this shit on him. “What the fuck is—”

“You don’t think that maybe it’s just little bit weird that you walked into a grocery store completely and utterly fine and walked out barely able to stand?” Sam barked, shoving Dean back down.

“I—” Sam’s words finally caught up to Dean and he stopped cold, sprawling backward and letting Sam press him into the cushions. “What?”

“Yeah,” Sam shouting, nodding now that he had Dean’s attention. “You walked back into the store to use the restroom and when you came out five minutes later, you weren’t walking straight! You want to tell me what happened in there?”

Dean flicked his eyes away, trying desperately to recall something out of the vast void that the previous night was to him. “I…” He covered his mouth with a hand. “I don’t remember.” What the fuck? He tried to push past the block again but only got a slight headache for his troubles. “What the fuck… So…”

“So in the span of five minutes, you got brain scrambled.”

“We’re thinking it’s whatever we’re hunting?” Dean asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. They didn’t have time for bullshit here.

Sam nodded as he stared down at Dean. His knee was pressing into the couch directly next to Dean’s hip. “I can’t think of anything else that would cause that, Dean.”

“…Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Sam finally stood up and looked away, turning his head to glare at the wall.

“So where does that leave us?” Besides in a fucked-up relationship and with an unknown monster that possibly knew who they were.

Sam spread his hands out in a classic ‘who knows?’ move. “Well we can’t back into town.

“The hell we can’t,” Dean snapped. “We’re going after this thing!”

“Dean, you were _attacked in broad daylight_ and we don’t even know by what!”

As much as it rankled Dean to admit it, Sam did kind of have a point. “Son of a bitch…”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “But we stay put for awhile until we maybe figure out what we’re dealing with.” Sam lifted a hand and began to tick off his fingers. “So far we know that it’s been around at least 25 years, it looks like a big wolf and takes their hearts, except when it…”

He trailed off and Dean closed his eyes, sighing. “Except when it put one hell of a mindfuck mojo on me.”

Sam nodded. “We don’t even know what it was trying to accomplish.”

“Oh besides—” Dean cut himself off and winced at Sam’s hurt look.

“Yeah, besides that,” Sam replied softly.

Dean nodded and reached over to pull the laptop out of its bag. “You should call Bobby.” He opened the laptop, stared at the blank screen before quietly closing it and setting it to the side. “I’m, uh…” He licked his lips, not quite knowing how to go about this. Then, he just decided, fuck it and spit it out. “Sorry for doing that to you, Sam.” It was extremely lame but at least it was out there.

Sam, though, stared at him with an unreadable look before nodding. “I’ll call Bobby,” he said.

Sam had been trying to get a read on Dean all day. So far the entire day had just frankly _sucked_ and he really didn’t know what he’d been thinking the night before. Dean had come to him when he was all messed up, probably because he’d _trusted_ Sam to fix it and then Sam had just given in. Sam snarled at himself. He was sick for taking advantage of Dean like that. He just…he hadn’t been able to help himself.

He’d already gone over this, though. Over and over in his head after the deed had been done and he’d been sitting there with a comatose Dean. He’d had the best of intentions when he’d first realized what happened to Dean. And then… Then it was like everything fell by the wayside. Sam’s willing to bet that some of that is because of whatever spell Dean was under at the time—it’d thrown Sam for a loop. Dean had felt positively _electric_ last night and Sam couldn’t have resisted if he’d tried. He knew that.

He also knew that the previous night wasn’t all whatever was wrong with Dean, either. He knew that some of the blame laid right down on his doorstep and _that_ was starting to eat away at him, piece by piece and Dean’s silence wasn’t helping.

It was enough to make Sam wonder if Dean had finally figured him out. Sam stared blankly down at the book that he’d been pretending to read ever since he’d called Bobby and found out that the older hunter didn’t have a clue what they were dealing with either, only that he knew that the whole dogman thing was a hoax. Sam had carefully sidestepped the whole conversation about him and Dean sleeping together, though. It might be an important clue, but Bobby didn’t need to know _everything_. Sam wasn’t very far into the book and he certainly couldn’t tell you what he had supposedly just read but _fuck_. He’d just had his most private fantasy come to life last night when he was pretty sure it was going to be not only the last time but considered a mistake as well. He couldn’t be blamed for wanting to remember it just a little more.

The odd thing, really, in Sam’s mind was not that he was deciding to waste time on replaying the previous night over and over in an endless loop—that was just to be expected from a messed kid who’s older brother had represented nearly every fucking ideal growing up. No, it was the fact that certain parts were just a little hazy. Sam would have thought that everything would have been recorded in crystal clear clarity but apparently he’d been just a little too excited to do that. Whenever he tried, he just got snatches of dilated green eyes and Dean’s x-rated mouth.

Fuck.

Brian, the creepy innkeeper, had stopped by earlier as well. ‘Just to see how they were doing’ and to give them a spare key to the cabin. Apparently, he’d forgotten to give it to them yesterday and it really would have been the perfect time to ask Brian about the murders but unfortunately Dean had refused to look Brian in the eye and Sam had been too busy thinking with his _dick_. Because that had always served him so incredibly well in the past.

Instead of grilling Brian like he should have, he’d just shoved the man out the door. Brian had protested a little and had tried to crane his head around to stare at Dean with big eyes, stuttering about “e-e-everyone’s all right?” but Sam really hadn’t been in the mood to deal with whatever little crush the man had on Dean. It wasn’t a nice thought, but Brian could just wait in line.

Across the room, a book slammed into the wall and Sam nearly fell out of his chair. “Fuck this shit,” Dean growled.

Dean was sprawled out over the couch—apparently his safe zone since he’d moved it to face directly away from the bedroom—and was staring resolutely ahead. And, of course, he was dressed in one of Dad’s old shirts—a clear sign to leave him the fuck alone if Sam ever saw one. “We’re not getting anywhere with this.”

“Dean,” Sam tried.

“No, fuck this, Sam! I can’t sit around and do nothing!”

And that was so like Dean to want to just go charging in because he didn’t have the patience for research. “We don’t know what we’re up against and for all we know—”

“We’re not going to find it here, that’s obvious—”

Sam slammed his own book shut, throwing it onto the tiny dining room table. “For all we know it could KILL you, Dean! Did you ever think about that?” Sam stood, suddenly full of Dean’s restless energy, too. “We don’t have a _clue_ what this thing is or what it did to you and we certainly don’t know what it would do if we found it again—which, coincidentally, we wouldn’t even know what it WAS if we did find it!”

Dean jerked his head away to glare at the wall. “Fuck that, Sam! I can’t just sit here waiting for it to come finish me off and you know that!”

“Maybe it already thinks that it DID finish you off!” And not for the first time, Sam wished that Dean could remember _anything_ about last night. Anything at _all_. It was the only clue they had to go on and they couldn’t even use it.

Dean kept staring at the wall, his hand beating out a rhythm against the couch and his feet twitching on the cushions. Sam hadn’t even managed to convince Dean to keep his boots off. Dean worked his jaw and closed his eyes. “I can’t do this…” he whispered and in an instant, Sam was across the room and kneeling on the floor beside him.

“Dean?” Sam asked, dropping his hand to Dean’s shoulder. “Are you—”

“Don’t _touch_ me!” Dean shouted, his eyes snapping open as he knocked Sam’s hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He stared at Sam, panting, then shoved him backwards, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “Fuck, give me some _room_ , will you? How the fuck do you expect me to breathe?”

Sam blinked up at Dean, bewildered and just a little bit scared. “Dean?”

“Fuck!” Dean jumped to his feet and darted for the door, smoothly evading Sam’s attempt to grab his pant leg and rushing outside.

“Dean!” Sam pushed himself to his feet and dashed after him. Something was happening to Dean and Sam needed to catch him before he made it too far. It had to be something to do with whatever happened to Dean last night. It had to be. Sam hit the front door and stumbled out onto the deck. “Dean!”

Birds startled up in the woods, the sound of their wild flapping echoing in the cabin’s clearing and Sam glanced around, trying to pinpoint the location. He jumped off the porch and tore off into the tall grass, heading for the colored woods. “ _Dean_!” He hit the tree line and shoved his way past the branches that caught on his shirt, moving them out of his way as he tried to keep up the pace.

How fucking far was Dean going? Sam leapt over a fallen tree, stumbling a little on the uneven ground, and pressed on. Possibilities were swimming through Sam’s head and each one was more horrible than the last. What if whatever had attacked Dean last night was out here waiting for them? What if Dean was heading straight towards it? What if _Sam_ was heading straight towards it? Panting hard, Sam slowed and came to a stop, bending over and bracing his hands on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. He sucked in a gulp of air and straightened. “DEAN!”

“Christ!” Sam’s head whipped around at the sound of Dean’s pained voice and winded or not, he was off running again, bringing his arms up to protect his face as he crashed through another thicket of tree branches.

He emerged on the other side and skidded to a stop, glancing around wildly until he spotted Dean lying curled on his side beside a thick stump. Dean groaned in pain and Sam dropped beside him, his knees sliding in the dead leaves and crunching pine needles. “Dean? Dean!” He grabbed at Dean’s shoulder but recoiled when Dean hissed. “Tell me what’s wrong! Dean!”

“Sammy,” Dean gasped. He was shaking and it was all Sam could do not to touch him again. What was he supposed to do? Touching Dean obviously caused him pain and Dean wasn’t or maybe couldn’t tell him what was wrong. FUCK. Sam felt so incredibly _helpless_.

“Dean. Dean, I’m here.”

“Sammy…” Dean said again and that was all the warning Sam got before Dean shoved himself off the ground and tackled Sam to the ground. Sam landed hard in the dirt, the air rushing out of him and he stared, stunned, as Dean straddled him. “…so sorry…” Dean was whispering. “I’m so fucking sorry…” But his hands were shoving up Sam’s shirt and deftly undoing his belt and Sam couldn’t _focus_.

He grabbed Dean’s shoulders, trying to push him away, but at the touch, Dean purred and scooted upwards, rolling his hips _right there_ and Sam was hard. Oh fuck, he was hard. “Dean—” he gasped. “God—Dean, stop—”

Dean slid a hand up Sam’s chest, over his neck and used it to cover his mouth. Sam moaned, closing his eyes. This was really happening, wasn’t it? Dean was on top of him in the middle of the woods and this was really happening, another wet dream come true. Sam felt his shirt pushed up and he jerked as Dean’s hot mouth closed around his nipple, sucking and licking and driving Sam insane. Dean’s teeth nipped at him—a tiny bit of pain to go with the rushing pleasure.

Sam slipped his hands from Dean’s shoulders to bury in his hair and jerked his head away from Dean’s grip even as he pulled Dean closer. “Fuck…” he swore softly before plunging his tongue past Dean’s lips.

Dean surged forward, meeting him with an eager little moan, twining his tongue with Sam’s. He rolled his hips again and Sam bucked up against him. Oh fuck yes. Fucking _please_ …

Dean broke off the kiss and shimmied downward, his hands skating over Sam’s chest and Sam stared up at the leaf covered sky. In a moment of clarity, he knew this wasn’t right. He knew that Dean didn’t want this, all evidence to the contrary. This had to be whatever curse Dean was under. But there was that frighteningly familiar electric sensation tingling through his nerves and Sam also knew he didn’t have a chance in Hell of stopping this. Then Dean’s hand plunged below Sam’s waistband and all Sam’s noble thoughts scattered. “Dean…” Sam groaned, curling up on himself as Dean found his dick beneath his underwear and began to stroke.

Dean whimpered, wiggling on top of Sam and his free hand captured Sam’s wrist, dragging it up to rest on Dean’s crotch. Getting the message loud and clear, Sam snapped open the top button of Dean’s jeans and pulled the zipper down to make enough room to wedge himself inside. Dean writhed, forcing his hips more fully into Sam’s hand and when Sam finally managed to touch him, Dean reeled, his head lolling back.

He was so perfect in Sam’s hand—velvety soft and thick. Sam matched the rhythm Dean was already setting with his own hand, swiping his thumb over the head before each downstroke as Dean eagerly humped him, hips bucking wildly. He tried to steady himself by bracing against Sam’s shoulder but that sent them both sprawling to the ground, Sam’s back flattening against the cold dirt and dead leaves again.

Dean squirmed on top of Sam, his entire body moving in time to Sam’s strokes, and he leaned up to mouth at Sam’s jaw, pressing desperate little kisses against the skin. Sam knotted his free hand in Dean’s hair, using the grip to pull Dean close enough to kiss him again. Dean came easily—so damn easily—surrendering to Sam’s maneuvering and muffling his moans against Sam’s mouth.

Sam’s entire body felt charged, electrified—he felt like he could fly. _So perfect, so gorgeous_ … Terms of endearment and various random words flew through Sam’s head, so fast he hardly had time to comprehend their meaning. _Beautifulamazingso fuckinghotloversafeloveyoumineperfect_ —

Dean started seizing on top of Sam, his entire body jerking as he spilled over Sam’s hand. Sam keened as his stomach clenched in response. _Sammy…_ The thought flew through Sam’s mind and was gone but Sam’s eyes popped open. _What?_ Then he was coming, his world shattering into pieces as he writhed his way through the orgasm flooding his nerves. “Ah, fuck!” he choked out, body tensing up, trying to hold itself together.

“Yeah,” Dean whispered in his ear. “So fucking gorgeous…”

Sam panted as he tried to come back down from the charge overloading his body, Dean’s grip still moving and drawing aftershocks out of him. He reached down and stilled Dean’s hand, biting his lip as the last twinge of pleasure shot through him. “Oh fuck…” he whispered.

Dean tensed on top of him. “Oh fuck…” Dean echoed, but instead of having Sam’s pleasure-filled tone, the words were coated in horror. “Oh _fuck_!” Dean yanked his hand out of Sam’s jeans, accidentally brushing Sam along the way and sending Sam’s world reeling one last time as Dean tried to scramble to his feet. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Sam pushed himself into motion as well. No fucking way was he going to let Dean run off to God knows where again. “Dean!” He said, surging upwards. “Dean, calm down!” Dean attempted to skitter away—not up to walking or standing yet but backpedaling furiously. Taking the opening, Sam flopped himself on top of Dean, pinning him against the forest floor. “Dean!”

Dean fought him, shoving and kicking, but Sam refused to move. “Get off me!”

“No fucking way! No way, Dean!”

“Christ, Sam!” Dean pushed against Sam’s face but Sam caught his arms and pinned them down as well, folding them overtop of Dean’s head. Dean bucked one last time, hoping to roll Sam off him but Sam countered, shifting his weight to accommodate.

“No, Dean!” Sam said, straddling him more firmly. “Stop it!” He realigned his grip on Dean’s arms and sat down on his legs. “Just stop it!”

“Fuck!” Dean screamed. He finally went limp beneath Sam, the fight draining out of him. “Fuck, Sam, why’d you let me do it?” he demanded, his voice cracking as he turned his head to the side to stare off into the woods. He blinked rapidly and with a jolt, Sam realized he was holding back tears.

“You needed it,” Sam said softly, sparing Dean any excuses that he could make. Sam was just as guilty in this as well.

“No, I fucking didn’t!” Dean snarled. His arms strained, testing Sam’s grip again. “I could have handled it!”

“Dean, whatever we’re dealing with—”

“I just fucking raped you, Sammy—I don’t think we’re dealing with it!” Dean slammed his had against the ground in frustration. “FUCK!”

Pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together for Sam and he clenched his teeth, trying to hold back reckless words that Dean would take the wrong fucking way, no matter how true they were. He’d known that Dean wouldn’t handle this well but trust Dean to take all the fucking blame himself. Sam was so damn sick of it—Dean might have been the one cursed but Sam was in this just as much. “Don’t you dare say that,” Sam hissed. Dean didn’t have a _right_ to say that. As if Dean would _ever_.

“What the fuck do you _want_ me to say?” Dean demanded, finally turning towards Sam. “I’ve got these crazy fucked-up urges running through my body and I couldn’t even fucking _stop_ myself!”

“Yeah, well, neither could I.” Sam stared down at Dean and watched as Dean took in that little piece of information, letting it soak and click together.

“It’s affecting you too,” Dean whispered. “Oh _Christ_.” He thudded his head against the dirt again.

That was only half of it but Sam didn’t think that he’d be able to take Dean’s disappointment and disgust if he found out the rest. “Something like that,” Sam said grimly. It was partially true, anyway. He had to admit that there was something more than just his fucked-up version of looking up to his older brother going on here. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d wanted to.

“What’s it feel like?” The words were spoken so softly that Sam almost missed them. He blinked, taking a minute to think. Dean was sprawled out under him, still looking like something out of one of Sam’s wet dreams as long as Sam ignored the tension twisting Dean’s mouth into a pained frown. Dean’s eyes were distant, fixed on a spot deep in the woods.

Sam licked his lips before he continued. “It’s just this urge. That I have to do it. That I can’t stop. And it feels like there’s high voltage running through my nerves—it almost hurts but it’s warm and…I want more.” Dean nodded, still staring off into the distance, and Sam dared to ask the question he desperately wanted to know the answer to. “What’s it feel like for you?” He said it casually, almost clinically, like it didn’t matter if Dean answered or not.

Dean didn’t respond, just turned his head away and Sam sighed. Of course Dean wouldn’t want to talk about this—he was aware of that. This was a weakness in Dean’s eyes. He wouldn’t want to admit it. Normally, Sam would let him have his space—possibly nag him to death about it later, but he’d still back off. They didn’t have that luxury this time. “Dean. I need to know.” This time, Dean was apparently remembering everything—it was part of the case. Just part of the case.

Silence hung between them for a long while but Sam let Dean have it. He could wait him out. When Dean started to speak, his voice was raspy, choked with an emotion Sam couldn’t quite identify. “I can’t stop myself. When you touch me, it’s worse. When you talk, it’s worse.” Dean fell silent again, swallowing hard.

“…What’s worse, Dean?” Sam prompted. “How does it feel?”

Dean closed his eyes, giving another futile tug of his arms. “Like my fucking soul is being ripped out. Like I…Like I have to have you or I’m going to die.”

Sam sat up, releasing Dean’s hands but stayed on top of him. “…Does it feel like that now?”

“No.” Dean flicked his green eyes to Sam’s face. “It’s gone.”

Somebody had to say it. They had to get it out into the open. “Gone when you came,” Sam said, clarifying.

“No.” Sam blinked at the contradiction. Dean was carefully looking away again. “Gone when _you_ came.”

Fuck. Well that explained a lot. “It’s some kind of bond then, isn’t it?” he asked.

Dean sighed and stared back up at the sky. “Feels like it.”

“Okay,” Sam said, trying to be as professional about this as he could manage. “So that’s something to go on. We should call Bobby again.” They could deal with this. They’d call Bobby again, tell him everything this time, and he’d know exactly what it was and how to lift it and they’d be fine. Well, Sam wouldn’t be fine, but at least Dean would be.

Dean nodded and sighed again. “Can I get up now?”

Sam flushed. “Uh, yeah.” He pushed himself to his feet and backed up to give Dean some room. Free of Sam’s weight, Dean rolled onto his side and stood up as well. He swiped at his clothes, brushing off the leaves and the dirt and Sam realized that he was covered, too. He began to mirror Dean’s motions before he grimaced and turned his attention to his hair. Dean’s hair had escaped the consequences of rolling around on the ground, but Sam was willing to bet that his hadn’t been nearly so lucky. He carded his fingers through it, dragging out various pieces of debris.

He was pulling out a crumbling leaf when he felt Dean tense beside him. “Dean?” Sam asked. Dean didn’t move, only flicked his eyes over at Sam before moving them back to peer out into the forest. “Dean,” Sam repeated, more urgently, “is it happening again?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean hissed, still staring at the surrounding underbrush and Sam finally got it. He froze too, staring into the woods. A flash moved on the right, barely noticeable, but Dean was off, running into the forest. Sam followed him, trying to stay close on his heels as they weaved through the trees, dodging tough clumps of weeds and leaping over obstacles.

They darted around a tree and then Sam finally saw what Dean had. The figure in front of them stumbled, cursing as it crashed to the ground and that was all Dean needed to catch up and throw himself on top. He landed on top of the person, bearing them to the ground as they tried to rise and rolling them underneath him. The person—a man Sam saw as he halted beside them—tried to fight back, to shove Dean off of him, but Dean easily flipped him and pinned him to the ground, slamming him against the dirt a few times to knock the fight out of the guy.

“OW!” Dean’s captive exclaimed. “What the fuck, man?”

Sam frowned—it was never a good sign when their suspected ‘monster’ used words like ‘man’ or ‘dude’—and beside him, he saw Dean doing the same thing. “Who the hell are you?” Dean demanded.

“Take it easy, fuckhead, I’m a cop!” the guy underneath Dean snapped. He kicked his feet in the dirt, churning through the leaves as he still tried to roll Dean off of him.

“A _cop_?” Sam asked, stepping closer.

Dean slammed the guy against the ground again. “And then what the fuck would you be doing out here?” he scoffed disbelievingly.

The guy spat out a mouthful of leaves. “Fuck! No, seriously! Let me go and I’ll show you my badge!”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Like that’s going to happen.”

The guy—kid really—could hardly have been twenty but Sam still winced. “Dean, if he _is_ a cop…” The last thing they needed was for Dean to be arrested for assaulting an officer.

Dean snapped his head up to glare at Sam. “Are you actually believing this bullsh—?”

“Yes!,” the guy shouted, interrupting. He struggles against Dean again, freeing an arm that Dean automatically repined behind his back. “Yes, damn it, I’m really a cop! Deputy Johnny Thompkins, swear to God, man!”

Sam’s jaw dropped. As in the Deputy Johnny Thompkins that had filed their original report? _Shit._ Beside him, Dean froze, his frown turning deeper as he stared at the man. “Deputy Johnny Thompkins?” he repeated.

“Yeah, man!” He pushed upward and ended up flopping against the ground like a fish. “Like I said, let me up and I’ll show you my badge!”

In an instant, Dean released him and stood up, backing away to stand just a little to Sam’s left. Together, they watched as the supposed Deputy Johnny Thompkins climbed onto his knees. “Jesus,” the deputy said, rubbing the back of his hand over his face. He reached into his pocket. “You fed types don’t mess around, do you?”

Dean shot Sam a look. “Uh…n-no,” Sam stuttered. “No, we do not.”

“Can’t be too careful,” Dean added, pursing his lips.

“Yeah, okay,” Thompkins said. He turned to face them, holding out what Sam was fairly certain was his badge.

Dean swiped it from him, flipping it open and inspecting it. He grunted. “Looks real,” he said.

Johnny Thompkins scowled. “Of _course_ it’s real!” he snapped. “What the—”

Sam cut him off. “You’re out of uniform, deputy,” he said, nodding at Thompkins’ plaid fleece coat and torn cargo pants.

Thompkins jerked his head at Sam’s scuffed up jeans and dirty T-shirt—the T-shirt that now probably had ‘questionable’ stains on it. “So are you, agent.”

“Right.” Sam didn’t have a good comeback for that.

Dean growled. “Yeah, yeah, everybody’s fucking out of uniform—what the fuck are you doing crawling around in the woods?”

The deputy looked offended again. “Investigating! What else would I be doing?”

Dean snorted. “Investigating what? If a bear shits in the woods? Investigating _us_ more like it and I could—”

Johnny Thompkins finally pushed himself to his feet. “You—”

Sam interrupted again, stepping between them. He did not need this escalating. “What my partner means, deputy, is that the murders took place at the inn’s main building, didn’t they? Not out here.”

Deputy Thompkins looked somewhat mollified as he turned towards Sam but there was a still a hint of derision in his expression. “Yeah, well, the criminal isn’t still there, now is he? Which might mean that he’s in these woods.”

Dean crossed his arms. “Because of course, he would have stuck around and set up camp.”

Sam leveled a look at Dean. Seriously? They were going to get _nothing_ out of this guy if Dean kept this crap up. Dean raised his eyebrow, half ‘what’ and half challenge. Sam frowned. They didn’t have time for this right now. He understood that Dean was going through an absolutely shitty time but they had other things to do. He turned his attention back to the deputy. “You think that whoever killed those girls is still out here.” It wasn’t a question.

Deputy Thompkins glanced over his shoulder, looking behind himself and Sam leaned a little to the right to try and see what the officer could have possibly been looking at. There was nothing back there. “I can’t discuss this with civilians,” Thompkins whispered.

_“Civilians?”_ Dean mocked. “We’re not—” Sam elbowed him, shoving him back out of the way. When Dean tried to sidestep Sam, to stop Sam from blocking him, Sam countered and gave Dean’s ankle a quick kick while ignoring the Dean’s furious glare. Dean wasn’t feeling like himself right now, Sam got that. He really did. But like fuck was Dean going to ruin the one possible break that they might get.

“No, I know you’re not _civilian_ civilians—!” The deputy cut himself off, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You guys, you’re just like Pete, though—you just don’t _know_!”

Based on Thompkins hints, Sam decided to take a chance. “There’s something in these woods, isn’t there, Deputy Thompkins?” he asked in a whisper and it was as if Thompkins had just hit the jackpot on a slot machine. His face lit up like the Fourth of July.

“You’ve seen it!” he exclaimed. “You’ve seen them!”

Sam nodded and hoped like Hell Thompkins wasn’t talking about aliens or Bigfoot. “Yeah,” he said. “They’re one of the reasons why we’re here. Biggest, actually.”

Sam didn’t know how it was possible but Thompkins grin grew bigger. “Ah, I knew it! Pete’s gonna owe me so damn big—”

“Unofficially,” Sam added hastily. “Unofficially. We can’t let this get out.”

Thompkins looked crestfallen but nodded. “Of course. Can’t let them know that we’re on to them.”

_“Christ,”_ Dean muttered, kicking at the leaves. Fortunately, Johnny Thompkins didn’t appear to have heard so Sam decided to ignore the comment.

“No, of course not,” Sam said, nodding his head. “Tell you what, deputy, how about you help us out and tell us all you know just so we can compare notes.”

“Seriously?” Thompkins squealed, slapping his thighs. “Man, that’s so awesome. See, I knew! I knew! They all told me I was crazy but I knew! You got my report, didn’t you? Man, I’m so awesome! See, I knew Pete was wrong! That’s why I put it up on the site—”

Sam fought to keep his face neutral while Thompkins jumped around like a kid on Christmas. One wrong move would fuck this all up and even all Thompkins had were crazy ramblings, they still had to _know._ The guy might have been a conspiracy nut but that didn’t necessarily mean he was wrong. Dean apparently didn’t see it that way at the moment—he stood a few feet away, staring at the forest like he was hoping that the monster would just jump out of hiding and kill him already.

“Okay, okay,” Thompkins said, calming down. “So I don’t know much—I mean, I know a _lot_ , but well, it’s not like I can _prove_ it and—”

Sam winced. “Deputy.” They didn’t have all day here.

“Right, sorry. So, as far as I can figure, it’s got to be some crazy kind of cult, you know?”

“Cult?” Sam asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean shake his hands, his lips pursed in an ‘ooooh.’ Dick.

Thompkins only had eyes for Sam, though, his apparent conspiracy theorist in arms. “Well, yeah, I mean, that’s what I think, because, well, Pete says it’s just some stupid kids’ camp sites but, man, I don’t know. The setup just looks, well, ritualistic, you know? Like tribal dances or something.” Sam nodded. “Which, you know, isn’t all that strange—could be some dumb kids or something—but there’s all the paw prints and the—”

Dean finally turned at the paw prints comment. “Paw prints like a big wolf?” he asked sharply.

Thompkins glared at him for interrupting. “What else?” he sneered like Dean had just asked if the sky was blue or if molten lava was hot. “They’re _obviously_ wolf worshippers. And then there’s the blood,” he finished.

“Blood?” Sam prompted, crossing his arms. Blood meant a big fucking clue and big fucking clues meant that they were getting somewhere.

“Well, yeah.” Thompkins nodded. “Pete—he won’t let me put it in the report. Says it’s not blood but it _looks_ like blood so I don’t know what else it could be.”

Sam knitted his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “Deputy Thompkins, do you think you could show us where this scene is?”

Thompkins shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Sam’s jaw dropped. So close and yet so far? Seriously?

Thompkins actually looked abashed, kicking at some leaves. “Pete says he’ll suspend me if he sees me hanging around there again.”

Oh. Because that wasn’t suspicious at all. “Why?”

“He says that I’m wasting my time and the station’s resources. Like I said, he thinks it’s probably just some kids or something. But—” Thompkins’ mouth closed with an audible click, cutting off whatever he’d just been about to say.

“But?” Sam prompted again. He was not going to let go of this. Dean’d always called this his pit bull routine but fuck him. Sometimes it came in handy.

“No, no, Pete will kick my ass if I go back there. Look, I just _know_ that there’s something off about the place. I just _know_.”

Sam raised his hands, placating. “Fair enough. Could you _tell_ us where the site is, Deputy?”

Thompkins looked torn, his face sliding into a disappointed pout, no doubt realizing that they had every intention of checking it out without him now. “I suppose. It’s about a mile back, right by the old mining caves.”

“That way?” Sam asked, pointing north. When Thompkins nodded, Sam smiled. “Thank you.” He reached for Dean’s arm, attempting to herd Dean away but Dean violently shrugged him off, glaring as he stalked towards the north. Sam grimaced and followed. In the face of an actual lead, he’d almost forgotten. He wondered if Dean felt anything now when Sam touched him or if it was only during the times that Dean was losing his mind in the thrall of whatever the creature had done to him.

“Hey, so, you’ll keep me updated, right?” Thompkins called after them. Sam waved his right hand and kept walking after Dean, leaving Thompkins as they pressed into the woods. “Because I have a right to know, you know!” Sam curved around a grove of trees and saw that he was gaining on Dean with Thompkins voice starting to fade. “So I’ll see you guys later. Or something!”

Dean was a thundercloud, scowl firmly entrenched on his face, when Sam caught up to him. Not that Dean would ever admit that there was something wrong. Oh, hell no. That would be _weak_. Sam opened his mouth to ask if he was okay but Dean cut him off. “Sheriff’s in on it.”

Sam gaped, his mind trying to catch up, before nodding. Yeah, that was true enough. “The way he won’t let anybody look into the ritual site? Probably.”

“Knew there was a reason why I hated that douchebag.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You just didn’t like him because he kicked us out of the diner.”

“Which is the sign of an evil man, Sammy.” At the sound of his nickname, Sam turned his head to watch Dean, not even bothering to correct the slip.

“…Are you—”

Dean stopped, whirling on Sam and shoving a finger in his face. “If you say ‘okay’ or ‘alright’ or any bullshit word like that, I swear to fucking God, I’m killing you right here! Christ, Sam, what the hell’s wrong with you? There’s nothing ‘okay’ about this!”

Sam resisted the urge to grab the finger Dean was shaking at him, instead backing up and refusing to rise to Dean’s bait, keeping his voice level. “Dean, we have to talk about this.” They weren’t going to figure this out, otherwise. Yeah, sure, they could check all the areas they wanted, but their biggest fucking clue was right here inside of Dean and Dean wanted to pretend it didn’t exist.

“No we fucking do not! I told you before, Sam, we _don’t_ have to talk about this! We just have to fucking FIX it, you got that?”

“Yeah,” Sam growled clenching his fists and fighting back the instinct to punch Dean—a reaction honed from years of dealing with his brother. He knew, though, that that was exactly what Dean would want. To be punished because it would feed straight into the fucking martyr complex Dean was attempting to develop. Fucked in the damn head. “Except that I’m hearing your thoughts, Dean,” he snapped, throwing his last bit of information at Dean like a dart.

The blood drained out of Dean’s face, his anger melting away into sheer out fear. Fucking _bull’s-eye_. “…What?”

Sam licked his lips, stalling for time because now that he had Dean’s attention, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “Not all the time. Just I’m pretty sure I didn’t scream my own name when I came and, well, you didn’t say anything, so…” The other things Sam couldn’t be sure hadn’t been his own thoughts.

“This is so fucking messed up,” Dean snarled and started stalking away.

Sam ran after him. “Why, because we slept together?” In the grand scheme of things, this really wasn’t the worse thing they’d ever done. After all, they hadn’t actually killed anybody, right? Dean ignored him, pressing northward, heading for the mines. “Let’s face it, Dean,” Sam said, deciding to just throw it out there, “that’s not the worse thing we’ve done!”

Dean didn’t stop, just shoving branches out of his way. “We _fucked_ , Sam. We _fucked_ and last time I checked, brothers don’t do that. So why don’t you just shut the fuck up!” The branch that Dean had been bending back slipped out of his hand and smacked him in the chest. “Fuck!” He reached out, grabbing the branch and bent it around. With a well-placed kick, he snapped it off the tree and then discarded it into the woods. “Call fucking Bobby already,” Dean growled.

Sam sighed but nodded. If Dean wasn’t going to talk, what else did they have to go on? He pulled his phone of his pocket, searching through his contacts for Bobby’s number as Dean kept a good ten feet between them.

“Hello?”

“Bobby!” Sam said.

“Christ,” was the reply. “What did you boys do now?” Sam winced. They really needed to start calling Bobby with some good news sometime. “Do you got anything new, because I got to tell you, boy, besides the usual suspects, I don’t know yet. A big dog type says black dog to me.”

“Well, uh…” Sam frowned as he tried to puzzle out the best way to breach this conversation.

“Spit it out, boy, I don’t have all damn day.”

“We think it does, uh, bonding spells, too.”

“Bonding spells?” Bobby repeated and Sam could just picture Bobby’s eyebrows disappearing underneath his trucker hat.

“You know, ‘bonding.’ Like ‘forcing people together,’ bonding.”

“Sam, you’re gonna have to be just a little bit more specific here. Are we talkin’ fuckin’ ‘gluin’ people together’ bonding or—”

“Sleeping together,” Sam breathed out in a rush. The woods suddenly parted around Sam, opening up into a small clearing that Dean was already starting to poke around. Sam could see why Thompkins had thought the place was a cult ritual site—symbols had been carved in all the surrounding trees and small rocks swirled out from a firepit in a complex maze. They’d been splattered with blood, the stains themselves following a pattern as well. Dean kicked at one of the rocks with his toe and Sam was so busy watching him, he almost missed Bobby’s low whistle.

“That changes things.” Bobby paused. “You mean _you and Dean_ together, don’t you Sam?”

“What? No!” Sam denied.

“Don’t lie to me. Or you would have mentioned it in the first place.” There was silence and then, “It happens, Sam.” Thank God for Bobby being so understanding. Sam just didn’t think that Bobby’d take it so well, though if he realized just how much Sam really didn’t mind the supposed curse.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, it has.”

“…Fuck, boy.”

“Yeah.” Dean moved on to examine the symbols on the trees, tracing them with his fingers. “Bobby?”

“I’m here, Sam, just give me a minute.” Bobby sighed. “What else you got?”

“We just found what we think is where the monster’s been—” Dean turned away from the tree, striding up to Sam and snapping his fingers. Wordlessly, Sam handed the phone over.

“Bobby?” Dean asked. “There’s a bunch of symbols carved in the trees here. I’ve never seen them before.” Sam watched Dean as he talked, the way that Dean’s mouth moved and how his hands kept waving around even though Bobby was here to see what he was gesturing at. …This was really the wrong time to be thinking about this, but Sam really liked Dean’s mouth. He liked how the plush lips moved to form words—always had—and Sam indulged himself while Dean was occupied, blatantly staring. Dean flicked his green eyes to Sam and Sam quickly looked away. With a scowl, Dean walked forward past Sam and into the middle of clearing, standing just to the right of the firepit. “Yeah, we’ll send them to you. Listen, there’s a lot of blood here, too, following with the modern art built out of rocks. Can’t tell if it’s human or not, but I’m guessing so.”

Dean looked great in a pair of jeans, too. It wasn’t exactly the first time Sam had thought that, either. It was just the way that Dean’s ass curved, filling out the back. He usually covered it with a long shirt or his jacket but right now Sam could see every little bit. He wanted to run his fingers along the swell like he’d done last night.

“Yeah, will do.” Dean flipped the phone closed, hanging up and turned around to glare at Sam. “Stop staring at me, Sam!” he snapped and Sam’s blood ran cold. _Caught._ But Dean continued on with, “I don’t need you constantly checking up on me! I’m not going to break!” and Sam blinked, unsure what to say to that. In an odd way, he was grateful that Dean had misunderstood his staring yet disappointed at the same time. Dean turned back around, holding the phone out as he started taking pictures. “Bobby wants to see this for himself so he’ll have more to go on.”

“Okay,” Sam said, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the trees. “Does he have a better clue what we’re dealing with?”

“He didn’t say,” Dean replied, snapping another picture. He suddenly turned, pocketing Sam’s phone. “You hungry?” he asked, tilting his head.

Sam blinked again, startled by Dean’s about-face. “What?”

“’Cause I’m fucking starving…” Dean moved past Sam, heading back towards the cabin, leaving Sam standing in the clearing staring after him. “Let’s go eat.”

 

  
[Part 2](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143581.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 4](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143973.html)  


  



	4. dragonspell

  
[Part 3](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143694.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 5](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/144225.html)  


 

It had started to rain on their walk back: a slow, miserably cold drizzle that was too light to see that had them soaked in a matter of minutes anyway. It fogged the forest around them, dampening everything, and had Dean’s clothes starting to stick to his skin. His shirt pulled awkwardly across his chest, riding up and clinging in cold, wet lumps as his jeans twisted around his legs, making it difficult to walk through the tall underbrush. Dean started to shiver, cursing the weather and that had been _before_ the skies really decided to open.

It was a downpour by the time they got back to where the cabin was, water gushing from the sky with a constant roar, the rain bouncing off the leaves as it filtered through the trees. When they reached the clearing, Sam and Dean made a break for it, darting across the uncovered area at a dead run. Arms above their heads, they plowed through the tall grass heading for the relative safety of the cabin. They hit the gravel-laden dirt and Dean skidded in the mud, gunk squelching around his boots as he dug trenches in the soft ground. He managed to keep himself upright, arms pinwheeling for balance, and threw himself onto the veranda. Sam followed right behind him.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Dean swore, grabbing his knees as he leaned over to pant. Sam nodded and jerked his head back as he sucked in a deep breath. Next to them, just a foot away, the rain continued to pour, rolling off the roof and pounding onto the ground. The forest, just a few yards away, was barely visible through the veil of water that blanketed the cabin. It was like being behind a waterfall. Dean shivered. “Fuck, that’s cold.” He stripped off his drenched shirt as he stalked inside the cabin. It felt like his actual _bones_ were freezing.

The cabin was just how they’d left it—books scattered over every available surface and the plated remains of breakfast sitting precariously on top of them. Two empty beer bottles lay discarded on the floor. Dean supposed that they should consider themselves lucky that a raccoon hadn’t decided to come inside after the scene he’d thrown. He hadn’t expected Sam to follow him but, of course, Sam had. Go figure that Dean tried to do the noble thing and go out to try and get himself under control and Sam just fucking followed him over the metaphorical cliff.

It wasn’t Sam’s fault, though. No, it was Dean who had this funky mojo on him. Sam was just caught up in whatever the fuck had been done to Dean. This was so fucking messed up…

“Dean…” But Sam was fucking crazy if he thought that they were going to talk this over. You did _not_ discuss brother fucking. In polite company or otherwise.

Besides, Dean was fucking _hungry_. Dean grabbed some dry clothes, stripping off and dropping the wet ones absent-mindedly on the floor as he swung to the left, heading straight for the kitchen. He felt like he could eat a whole _cow_. He pulled on the dry jeans as he started opening up the cupboards. He didn’t remember putting away groceries last night but they were. Maybe Sam had done it after—after whatever they hadn’t done. Dean pulled on his shirt and stared at the various selections, wondering if he had the patience to actually make anything before he realized that no, he didn’t, and so grabbed the loaf of bread, intent on making himself a sandwich.

“Dean, are you okay?” If Sam didn’t stop asking dumb shit questions like that, Dean couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. Fuck, he was hungry. Dean decided to even skip the peanut butter and just shoved a slice of plain bread into his mouth. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in a _week_. “Dean?” Sam’s voice was closer now. In fact it was…

Dean whirled, finding Sam directly at his elbow, nearly falling over before he managed to back up. “Christ, Sammy,” Dean complained through a mouthful of bread. “Warn a guy!”

“…You sure you’re okay?” Sam asked, standing there dripping on the floor because he hadn’t bothered to change yet and his hair soaked up water like a fucking sponge.

“Fucking peachy. Now don’t drip on me!” Sam…Sam smelled kind of good. Like milk chocolate.

That was fucking disturbing. Dean shoved another slice of bread in his mouth, the end hanging out as he used both hands to try and shove Sam away and fuck but that was a mistake. As soon as Dean touched Sam, as soon as he felt Sam’s wet shirt, he _knew_ it was a mistake. He felt an electric shock travel up his fingertips and he stared at Sam’s face, seeing an answering reaction echoing in Sam. Dean shoved Sam backwards, darting out around him, and escaping the kitchen.

Okay, breathe first. He just needed some air. That was all. There was some crazy mindfuck mojo going on, but Dean could handle it if he just got some fucking air! Instead, he was surrounded by fucking chocolate and Sam just needed to back the fuck off! “Stop crowding me!” he shouted.

“Dean?” Dean turned to glare at Sam and shove him away again, but stopped cold when he realized that while he had traversed more than half the cabin, Sam hadn’t moved an inch, still standing in the kitchen more than twenty feet away and staring at Dean.

Fuck. Dean snarled and punched the wall. _Dean?_ “Stop fucking _talking_ , Sam, I need to think!”

“…I didn’t say anything—”

“I said, stop fucking talking!” Dean couldn’t fucking THINK while Sam was talking. It was like Sam’s voice just overloaded his damn brain or something and then all he could think about was Sam, Sam, Sam. Sam in all kinds of disturbing, _sick_ ways—ways that a guy shouldn’t think about his little brother in. Dean didn’t care what kind of twisted hold the creature had over him, he should be able to resist thinking about Sam like that. Flashes of last night and then again in the woods spun through his mind, reminding him exactly how Sam could look, how he made Dean feel—

He could control this. He knew he could. All he had to do was concentrate. Really want it. Dean just had to FOCUS and— _Dean, stop_ —SAM HAD TO STOP TALKING!

He had to stop talking, he had to stop smelling so damn good, he had to stop _breathing_ , even. Dean could hear each and every breath Sam was taking, could fucking _feel_ them and it wasn’t helping. He could almost feel Sam’s hot skin underneath his hands, feel how Sam’s chest was heaving and how it was wet from the rain but that he could still notice that there was a trickle of sweat starting to bead. Could feel how Sam’s muscles bunched under his touch and feel the heat radiating off of him and Christ, did the whole room smell like chocolate now?

Dean’s back slammed into the wall and he opened his eyes, confused, just in time to field Sam’s kiss. Fuck, Sam even tasted good. Sam tasted like sin. He tasted like water in the goddamned desert. He tasted like summer and sunny days and home. Dean moaned—couldn’t fucking help himself—and even though he’d tried to push Sam away, his hands ended up gripping Sam’s forearms, holding him in place while Dean attempted to just fucking melt.

This was just like out in the woods— _just like out in the woods_. Sam used every bit of height he had on Dean, to try and force him into submission, looming and pushing him back against the wall, but he didn’t even have to try—Dean was already giving it up. He needed more. Fuck, did he need more. He was _starving_.

He sank his hands into Sam’s hair, dragging Sam down closer so that Dean could stick more of his tongue in Sam’s mouth and God, but Sam was fucking everywhere. Everything smelled like Sam and Sam’s body leaned up against every available inch of Dean’s while his hands roamed over Dean’s body, rucking up his shirt and dragging down his jeans.

Dean moaned again and squirmed, trying to help Sam get his wet clothes off. Clothes were so fucking useless anyway. He needed to feel more of Sam, needed him closer. They were too fucking far apart. He was damn near wrapped around Sam like a fucking octopus with his tongue down his throat and they were too fucking far apart. “Sammy,” Dean gasped. “Fuck, Sammy…” He pulled uselessly at Sam’s wet T-shirt. “Take this off,” he pleaded. For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to figure out how to do it himself.

“God, yes,” Sam whispered, pulling away just long enough to rip the shirt off over his head before coming back and attacking Dean’s neck. Dean gasped, surging upwards as Sam licked a stripe up his throat and then bit down, worrying the skin between his teeth as he made his mark.

“Sam, Sammy, Sam,” Dean babbled. Christ, his tongue was running away with him. He couldn’t stop it anymore than he could stop the involuntary shudder that racked his body when Sam shoved his thigh between Dean’s legs. Dean ground himself down on Sam, moaning at the sensations running up his spine. _Gorgeous_.

Dean’s eyes fluttered and he pressed the side of his face to Sam’s, licking at Sam’s ear. It was the only thing he could reach. His hands slid down Sam’s back, feeling the muscles underneath the skin as he made his way to the waistband of Sam’s jeans. _Beautiful. Mine_.

When Dean shoved his hands down the back of Sam’s baggy jeans, Sam growled and Dean found himself suddenly in the air and moving backwards. Sam’s hands covered Dean’s ass, lifting him as Sam half-dragged him back to the bedroom. “Fuck, yes…”

Sam dumped him on the bed, staying away just long enough to yank Dean’s jeans off his hips and down to his ankles before he straddled Dean, bearing him down to the bed. Dean toed at his shoes, kicking them off and letting the jeans puddle to the floor while he ran his hands up Sam’s body, over his naked thighs and to the still covered bulge in Sam’s underwear. Sam had managed to take off his own jeans, but not his boxers. Dean groaned in frustration, fingers tracing the hardness under the cloth.

Sam whined, high but quiet, and seized Dean’s wrists, dragging them above his head and pinning them to the mattress. Dean writhed, desperate with the need to touch Sam but feeling just about ready to come from the thought of being bound by Sam. “Fuck…” He arched up, rubbing his own erection against Sam’s and shuddered.

“Do you want this?” Sam asked, low and rough and Dean nodded. Fuck yeah. “Do you want this?” Sam repeated as if it fucking mattered.

Dean bucked up against him again. “Yes, yes, I want it. I need it. Sam, I need it. Need you—” He bit his lip, muffling the words into unpronounceable sounds. Sam just needed to get with the fucking program, already! Dean hauled at his arms but Sam had him good and pinned.

“God, Dean…” Sam panted and then he collapsed on top of Dean, biting at Dean’s lips and sliding his hands down to Dean’s hips. “God…” He ground his cock against Dean, driving Dean insane with the need to thrust back, to try and encourage any and all contact. Dean moaned and tried to tug himself free again and Sam transferred both of Dean’s wrists to one huge hand, using the other to strip off his boxers, freeing his cock to drool on Dean’s stomach. Dean squirmed, rubbing up against the head of Sam’s dick to watch him shudder.

Sam leaned away for a few tortuous moments before coming back with a soft “Dean…” and then he was pushing fingers up inside of Dean. Dean gasped and arched, trying to spread his legs as wide as possible and get Sam more inside of him at the same time. He had to have more. More of Sam’s hot touch. Sam brushed a spot inside him that had Dean arching again as sparks zipped up and down his spine.

Dean knew that his mouth was making sounds, but he didn’t know what he was saying, just that he wanted Sam to hurry up and _please_. A resounding _yes_ was echoing through Dean’s mind but to what he wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure of anything until he felt the hot press of Sam pushing inside of him and then _yes_.

Sam was purring in his ear about ‘hot’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘perfect’ and ‘ _fucking mine_ ’ but Dean thought he could say anything he wanted as long as he kept up that low, growly voice that made him throb with each freaking syllable and as long as he kept up those long, deep, hard thrusts that had Dean seeing stars. Dean wrapped his legs around Sam, trying to get him as close as possible, trying to make him become a part of Dean.

God but Sam was fucking huge; when had he gotten so damn big? It felt like he was stretching Dean to the limit and Christ, should that feel as good as it did?

It started with a shudder, Dean’s orgasm, and it moved into an uncontrollable wave of pleasure crashing over him. There was somebody screaming and somewhere Dean realized it was himself but it felt just so far away, buffered as he was in trying to stay afloat. Orgasm zinged along his nerves, buzzing through his body and then Dean felt Sam start to come. He felt Sam’s body start to seize as he flooded Dean’s insides and it was like a riding a tidal wave crashing into the beach. Dean felt himself slammed against the shore by another wave of pleasure as his world flashed to white.

\---

The only sound in the room was a harsh panting that Dean instinctively knew was his own. He raised a hand to his face to wipe away sweat, only being mildly alarmed at how slow the limb was to respond. Christ. It felt like someone had beaten him and left him for dead in an alley. He slid his sluggish hand down to his neck, feeling his racing pulse.

The bed was a fucking mess. The covers were everywhere—the heavy quilt wadded up at the end of the bed and the thin white sheets twisting around Dean’s legs and under his body. He was also pretty sure that he was sitting in a definite wet-spot. He groaned as he tried half-heartedly to kick himself free.

It was only then that he finally became aware of the fact that yes, there was someone else in the room—someone that wasn’t breathing as hard as him maybe, but someone that was laying right beside him, radiating heat and sweat. Dean lolled his head to the left and lazily blinked at Sam who stared back, looking shocked and scared and stubborn all at the exact same time. Sam swallowed, probably preparing himself to talk so Dean beat him to it. “I can’t control it,” he said simply. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

Sam nodded, his eyes narrowing in thought, no doubt genius mind already whirling with theories. Dean sighed and looked away. He simply couldn’t meet Sam’s earnest puppy dog eyes right now. Couldn’t fucking take them. “Are you hearing my thoughts?” Sam asked quietly and Dean frowned.

…He dismissed them at the time but… “Yeah. I think I am. Sometimes.”

Sam pushed himself up, bracing on an elbow and leaning towards Dean. “That probably changes things,” he said.

“And how would it do that?” Dean rolled his eyes. Trust Sam to skip over the truly difficult part to focus on a damn detail. They were _fucking_ for Christ’s sake. Had been, probably would again because they couldn’t fucking control themselves just like goddamned _rabbits_ and Sam thought Dean being able to sense out some random thoughts and feelings of Sam’s was going to change anything?

But Sam was in a mood to be fucking cryptic today. Somebody needed to tell him not to do that to guys who’d just had sex. It was completely unfair. “Because you’re going to find out,” he stated, like it just cleared everything right up.

“Find what out?” Dean demanded irritably, finally summoning enough ambition to roll onto his side to meet Sam’s stare head on.

Sam’s expression puppy dog eyes turned wretched but resigned. “How I feel.”

“Sam,” Dean said with a glower. “I don’t have the patience right now to play twenty questions.”

“You’re going to find out how I feel, Dean,” Sam explained. “How I’ve always felt. If you’re starting to pick up as much as I have, you’re going to figure it out.”

“How you feel about _what_ , Sam?” Dean snapped. Christ, he’d just been flying high two minutes ago… Sam really _was_ a buzzkill.

Sam’s eyes turned hard and he shoved himself up to a sitting position. All the better to drop a bomb, Dean figured, when Sam snarled, “That I’m fucking in love with you, asshole.”

Dean blinked. “What?” he asked disbelievingly but Sam was already up out of bed and heading for the main part of the cabin. Dean kicked at the covers twined around his legs, pulling them off of himself before he dared to stand. He didn’t need to be falling flat on his face right now. “Sam, get back here!” You didn’t say something like that and fucking walk away. You just didn’t _do_ that!

He stumbled off the bed onto the cold wood floor and jogged out into the main room. Sam was standing in the middle, evidently waiting. “What the fuck did you mean by that?” Dean demanded. Christ, as if their lives weren’t fucked up enough…

Sam crossed his arms. “I wasn’t exactly enigmatic about it, Dean. I came out and said it, what more do you want?”

“A fucking explanation!” Dean exploded, throwing his hands out to the side.

“What, do you need a _map_?” Sam sneered.

“We _fucked_ , Sam—”

“Yeah, I know, and you didn’t exactly force me.” Dean closed his mouth with an audible click. Sam…Sam had _wanted_ him. Then the…

“It wasn’t working on you?” Dean croaked.

Sam sighed, looking off to the right. “It was. But it didn’t exactly need to work hard.”

“…So you…” Dean couldn’t finish that statement and Sam just looked at him flatly, refusing to do it for him. “…How long?”

Sam shrugged. “Since forever? Dude, I think we both know that we’re pretty screwed up, thanks to Dad—”

“Dude, Dad did _not_ make you want my ass!” Fucking Sam and his freaking hard-on for dragging Dad’s name through the mud. The man was _dead_ and Sam couldn’t stop.

“No, but he didn’t exactly help me not to, either.”

“And what the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“We were raised in each other’s back pockets, Dean. No concept of personal space, remember? Sorry if hearing a guy jerk off next to me three times a day finally got to me. You were my first wet dream!”

“You told me it was Jenny Carthers!” Jenny Carthers of the enormous breasts and bubblegum pink lipstick. Dean remembered the day that he’d dragged that confession out of Sammy. The kid’d been blushing at the kitchen table when Dean’d been talking about making-out with a girl and Dean had just put two and two together.

“No, YOU said it had to be Jenny Carthers! I thought she was a bit of a _bitch_ , or don’t you remember her constantly throwing my math textbook in the garbage?”

…Honestly, no, Dean didn’t remember that. He just remembered seeing Sam and Jenny standing really close one time, talking fast. …In retrospect, he supposed that they could have been arguing. “Dude, you’re _gay_?”

“Apparently,” Sam said flatly.

Now Dean knew he had Sam caught. “What about Jess, then?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t bring Jess into this.”

“I’m not. But you’ve dated a girl before.”

“Of course I have,” Sam replied snottily. “Doesn’t mean I can’t like guys, too.” Like that made all the sense in the world. Dean gaped, unsure what to say to that that wouldn’t be repeating himself. Sam huffed a sigh. “What does it freaking matter, Dean? I’m here telling you I’m in love with you and you want to argue labels!”

“Well somebody should! You seem a little confused here, Sammy.” Like hell Dean believed that Sam was gay. He was just confused—the curse had messed him all up. “It’s got to be whatever mindfuck mojo’s been put on me. Once we get it off, you’ll think this is really funny.”

“Yeah, one problem with that—I’ve felt this way for _years_.” A tick was developing in Sam’s jaw. “What if this can’t be fixed, Dean?”

Dean glared. They weren’t discussing this. “It can be, Sam.” There was no way that Dean was going to believe otherwise.

“What if it can’t be?”

“Sam—” Dean started.

“Dean, it’s a good question. What if this _can’t_ be fixed? What are you going to do?”

Of course Sam just wasn’t going to drop this. Sam had never ‘just dropped’ anything in his life, so Dean didn’t know why he expected Sam to start now. He sighed and turned to face the wall, crossing his arms. He wasn’t going to consider this. They had to fix it because otherwise Dean wasn’t going to be able to stop himself and the alternative? Was even fucking worse. Dean had already had Sam walk out on him once. Like fuck he was going to do it again. Christ, but maybe Sam had a point—a _small_ one—about how their father had raised them: Dean had been just about ready to slit his wrists five years ago because he hadn’t known what to do without Sam.

Could he actually…? It was stupid to even think about. _Stupid._ There was nothing remotely right with this situation even by their standards which was saying something. What did Sam think was going to happen? That Dean would just willingly submit to this? And why the fuck did Sam want that?

…Or, more to the point, when had Sam _started_ wanting that? When had Sam stopped looking at Dean as just an older brother and started looking at him more like…

It…. It wasn’t all bad. Really. Apparently Sam was a pretty good lay—and Dean was _not_ going there. He wasn’t.

He certainly wasn’t going to think about how deep inside of him, some part of him was just _begging_ to say yes to Sam. That was the fucking curse talking. It had to be. And it would be gone just as soon as they killed this son of a bitch. “That’s not an option, Sam.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Maybe it should be.”

“Are you saying you don’t want this to be fixed? Is that what you’re telling me, Sam? You want us to, what, go on fucking uncontrollably for the rest of eternity? What kind of fucked up—”

“No!” Sam interrupted. “I’m just saying that sometimes there are things that can’t be fixed, Dean and maybe you should just _accept_ that—”

“We both _know_ that’s not an option!”

“Bullshit, Dean. You want to pretend, then go ahead, but just remember: I can hear what you’re thinking.”

… _Sam could_ … Dean’s jaw dropped, his blood running cold Just how much did Sam know, anyway?! Could Sam hear what Dean was thinking right now? Did he know that Dean—God help him—had actually contemplated it? Fucking _Christ_ on a pogo stick… “Stay the fuck out of my head!” he shouted. “You know what, Sam, how about this? How about for once in your goddamned life, you _don’t_ embrace the obviously evil powers? How about that?”

It was a low blow. Dean knew it was a low blow. Sam had never asked for any of this, really. But Dean wasn’t going to take it back. The look on Sam’s face was killing him but he wasn’t going to take it back. And then, for the first time since they’d started this fucked-up hunt, he was alone in the cabin, the front door slamming behind Sam. Fuck.

\---

So. Sam…Sam _wanted_ “this.” It was a thought that Dean had been trying to wrap his head around for the past two hours and he still wasn’t any closer to being able to put the words “Sam,” “wants,” “fuck,” and “me” in the same sentence. He flopped back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling, counting the stains again. There were seven and a half all together—at least in this main room. The one only counted as a half because, well, it was really just a spot and Dean couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a bug or something without getting up and checking.

This was blowing his goddamned mind was what it was doing. How could Sam want _that_? Why?

Granted, it hadn’t been all bad—and again, Dean was not going there. He wasn’t even going to think it. He was going to focus on rainbows or puppies or something—anything to get him to stop thinking about having sex with his brother.

He just didn’t understand. Sam had dated women before. Hell, Sam had even fucked women before—Dean knew that. But yet somehow, for some reason, Sam had randomly decided—probably with more than a little bit of help—that he wanted to…

Except that Sam had said that he’d wanted this for awhile. Jesus. Had Sam thought about it before? Before all of this? Had Sam sat beside Dean in the Impala and thought about, well, _that_?

…And did it really matter? Yeah, sure, the whole damn thing was completely FUBAR, but was it really that horrible in the grand scheme of things? It made Dean wince to admit it, but a little bit of (dubiously) consensual incest was hardly the worst of their sins. It wasn’t exactly a merit badge or anything but hey. At least no one had died.

Yet.

And, yeah, Dean knew that he had been out of line with the whole embracing the evil powers crack but _Sam_ had been out of line for thinking that Dean would just be okay with taking it up the ass.

Jesus, it made his head spin. It also had him analyzing every single damn thing he could remember Sam doing from age 13 to now, wondering just where it might have started and how Dean might have fucked up royally. Normal people did not do things like this.

Through all of this, he kept getting little spurts of alternating anger and hurt that _somehow_ he knew was coming from Sam. Goddamned fucking curse. The sporadic guilt-trips, however, Dean kind of thought were preferable to the equally random images of himself that he kept getting as well—licking his lips after taking a drink or sprawled out on the Impala, _breathless and naked in the backseat_ which he was pretty sure was not a memory of an actual event but rather Sam’s wish fulfillment and it would be damned nice if Sam would stop that shit.

‘Cause Dean was feeling an answering surge of _something_ every time he caught a glimpse and yeah, still not going there!

So just in case Sam was in Dean’s head as well and not just broadcasting to the lower 48, Dean tried to keep his thoughts focused and narrowed and whenever Sam threw him a risqué image, Dean would concentrate on either a particularly hot chick or a memory of Sam in diapers, depending on just how personal said image was.

Underneath all of it, Dean was starting to feel the now familiar stirrings of hunger, damn it. Bad enough that he couldn’t control it: The damn curse made him _want_ it.

It was around ten o’clock by the time the rain finally stopped, suddenly cutting out like someone had shut off a valve, and it was around eleven before Sam finally poked his head back inside the cabin. His hair was dry, so apparently, he’d stayed underneath the veranda which was good, Dean supposed. Didn’t need Sam coming down sick on top of everything else.

“We should check out the site tonight,” Sam said stepping inside, the first words Dean had heard spoken out loud in hours. He grunted an affirmative because if there was any chance that the freaky little cultists responsible for this mess were in the woods, dancing around their little bonfire and sacrificing a new victim, Dean was there. ‘Cause they couldn’t wrap this shitpile of a hunt up fast enough.

He was already halfway there in his head when he realized that someone was knocking at the door. It was an insistent rapping and Dean glanced over at Sam who nodded. Sam slunk over beside the door, positioning himself within striking distance while Dean stood in front of it. “Hello?”

“Agents?” a voice asked and Dean swore, recognizing it. “I just came by to—”

Dean swung the door open. “Brian,” he said flatly. The innkeeper’s balding head gleamed in the low light, his sweater vest a dark blue, charcoal grey and maroon combination. “How can we help you?”

Brian’s brown eyes widened, his hands fluttering wildly like a frightened bird attempting to fly. “I was just checking to see if maybe you were…checking out?”

“Checking out?” Dean repeated, his eyes narrowing. He swung around to glance at the clock on the wall. Dean had never been the best at being able to tell time but he was fairly certain that the clock was telling him it was 11:05. “Now?”

“Or-or-or maybe tomorrow…” Brian trailed off, still staring at Dean with his eyes starting to show white around the edges. Then he switched tracks, leaving Dean spinning in a rut of confusion. “Is there anything you need? Anything at all?” Brian wrung his hands, still staring like Dean was about to bolt. Sam frowned at Dean, and kept just out of Brian’s line of sight as he shrugged his shoulders. Dean, meanwhile, was trying to convince himself that it _wasn’t_ longing he was seeing on Brian’s face and, Christ, was the man _smelling_ him? Brian’s nostrils were flaring and Dean felt his skin starting to crawl.

“Uh…no. No, I think we’re good. Brian. Thanks.” Dean pushed the door closed, shoving the nervous-looking Brian out of the cabin and putting a nice solid piece of wood between him and them. He firmly pushed it against the jamb, hearing it latch but resisted the urge to lock the stupid thing. He glanced over at Sam. “Hooo-kay…”

Sam frowned harder. “That was creepy.”

“That was really creepy,” Dean agreed.

“Think he wants us out of here?”

“Either that or he _really_ wants your ass, Sam,” Dean growled and stomped towards the duffels, starting to pack. He wasn't quite sure what to bring, so he just started throwing everything he could think of into the bags on the off-chance that they'd be able to find out what the fuck was going on and put a stop to it. “We’re ending this tonight.” If he said it out loud, maybe it would actually happen. There was always hope. And a little bit of denial.

 

  
[Part 3](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143694.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 5](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/144225.html)  


  



	5. dragonspell

  
[Part 4](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143973.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 6](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/144482.html)  


Around midnight, Sam was waiting by the door, shotgun in his right hand and a bag full of stakes and silver in his left—never hurt to cover all the bases. Sam hadn’t actually spoken since their little run-in with Brian, but that was okay. They didn’t need to talk about this. In a little while, with a little luck, this would be all over and then he and Sam could go just right back to normal. Whatever normal was for them. Sam’s confused feelings would get sorted out— _or buried again_. Dean scowled. “Stay the fuck out of my head, Sam,” he warned again.

Okay, so no, Sam hadn’t actually physically, out loud, spoken. But that certainly hadn’t stopped him from poking around in Dean’s head where he didn’t belong. If they _didn’t_ get this case wrapped up by tonight, they were going to have to have a long-ass talk about the concept of personal space. Sharing a hotel room? Fine. Sharing a bathroom? Fine. Sharing a bathroom _together_? Doable. Sharing a fucking _brain_? How about no?

Sam was projecting hurt and anger but Dean ignored him. “Let’s go.”

The hike back to the site was longer than Dean remembered. Probably because last time, there’d been a lot more running involved. The rain had washed everything out, as well, taking off with any tracks that they might have made and instead leaving soaked underbrush that clung and snared on Dean’s jeans. Dean muttered to himself as he stomped through it, the cold wet denim of his pants sticking to his legs just like before. Why did they always have to have to travel through the fucking soaked woods for miles? He wouldn’t mind actually having a case that, say, just involved a drive-by in the Impala, maybe. That’d be nice. Pull up, shoot the monster, and drive-off. No muss, no fuss, right? None of this having wet clothes twisting around you when you’re trying to walk and feeling more like you’re swimming

“Dean.” Dean stopped, taking a second to realize that Sam had actually said that out loud. So they were talking now? Dean looked over at his shoulder. Sam frantically waved for him to get down and, irritated or not, Dean hit the dirt. You just didn’t fuck around with something like that. His ears were telling him nothing, just the heavy silence of the woods and he couldn’t see jack shit in the inky darkness.

Something rippled in the air towards the right and Dean jerked. _Son of a bitch…_. Sam nodded and they both watched as a thickly furred creature emerged from behind the trees, strolling into the clearing. Large as a fucking bear but it was gray with a longer snout. Dean pulled out his gun, quickly checking the magazine for the silver bullets. Looked like they found their wolf. True, they didn’t have a fucking clue what this thing was, but it apparently could shift shape and so Dean figured, if nothing else, a little silver just might piss it off. He took aim, noting out of the corner of his eye, Sam readying the shotgun just in case the silver didn’t do anything after all.

The wolf jerked up, scenting the air and Dean froze, not daring to move in case it would be able to see him in the dark. It didn’t matter as the wolf took off, bounding back into the woods. “Fuck…” Dean swore softly. He glanced over at Sam and jerked his head towards where the wolf had gone and Sam nodded reluctantly. Dean nodded back and shoved himself off the ground, cautiously walking up to where the creature had been standing.

“What are you boys doing out here?” Dean whirled, pointing his gun at the voice. Sheriff Jacobson walked out of the darkness, holding up his flashlight and flashing it in Dean’s eyes.

Dean winced, holding up his hand. “Thought we saw something,” Dean answered honestly enough.

“What are _you_ doing out here, Sheriff?” Sam asked and yeah, Dean agreed that that was really the more pressing question.

Sheriff Jacobson eyed Dean’s gun, raising an eyebrow so Dean tucked it back into the waistband of his pants. Beside him, he could see Sam was blocking shotgun from view with his body. “Little girl got lost,” Jacobson said, sounding not overly concerned. “We’re canvassing the area.”

That was a load of bullshit if Dean ever heard one. Sam stepped forward, though, calling the sheriff out directly. “We’ll help you,” he offered.

Jacobson smiled. “Not necessary. We handle our own. Why don’t you boys go get some sleep? Got a long drive ahead of you, don’t you?” He tipped his hat and turned towards the other person coming out of the darkness. “Ronnie,” he said flatly. “There you are.”

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Dean whispered and Sam glanced at him. The kid that Jacobson was heading towards had spiky blond hair, wearing a distressed jean jacket and Dean _knew_ he’d seen the kid before. There were flashes of that face and a grocery store restroom and things started to click into place for Dean. ‘Ronnie’ was staring at Jacobson and slowly backing up into the forest again, looking for all the world like a scared rabbit. He glanced over at Dean, his eyes widening further and then he turned and bolted.

Jacobson shot them a bland look over his shoulder. “Ronnie’s a little shy,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind.” He disappeared into the woods, leaving Dean staring after them and Sam staring at Dean.

Dean abruptly turned, staring through the woods in the direction that they’d come from. There was a prickle along his skin and a sinking sensation in his belly—he was heading the wrong way. Dean had no idea why he thought that, but somehow he knew. Somehow, he knew that going back to the cabin right now was not what he should be doing even though it was obvious that that was _exactly_ what they should be doing. There were two, possibly more, creatures but yet Dean didn’t want to go back to the cabin to rethink the plan and he didn’t want to follow Ronnie and Jacobson. “Dean?” Sam asked. “Dean, don’t you think we should—”

Dean grabbed the sleeve of Sam’s Carhart, dragging him close. Sam still smelled like fucking chocolate. Dean wanted to bury himself in Sam when Sam was this close, or at least lick him. He swallowed the urge down. “I’ve seen that kid before,” he whispered.

“Who, Ronnie back there?” Sam pointed towards where both Ronnie and Jacobson disappeared.

“Yes,” Dean answered. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was getting worse so he turned again, facing towards the north and like a freaking miracle pill, it went away. Ronnie and Jacobson had gone east. Sam and he, though, apparently had to head north. “I saw that kid yesterday. Just before everything went blank.”

“Dean,” Sam scoffed. “It’s a small town. He looks like that guy you almost ran over yesterday—the one that ran out in front of you? That’s probably where you know him from.”

Dean glanced sharply at Sam. “Then you tell me, Sammy: why was Ronnie back there not happy to see good ol’ Pete? Pete, who we know is probably in on this?” Dean turned back to the north and started to walk, ducking under a branch. “Probably because he was supposed to either drive us off or _kill_ us and obviously he failed!” Which begged the question of—

“—how he failed,” Sam finished, following after him.

“That’s fucking _creepy,_ Sam. Stop it.”

“Stop broadcasting then!” Sam retorted, like that was all there was to it, as if all it took was Dean _wanting_ Sam to stop reading his every thought to just get him to stop. “It’s not my fault Dean,” Sam said defensively. “You just keep _shouting_ at me.”

“Shut up and keep walking.” He was pretty sure that Jacobson and the Ronnie kid were occupied but he really didn’t want to take that chance. There was just something _calling_ him, telling him to go north and Dean had to obey. And Sam had to stop standing so damned close—his scent was overriding just about _everything_.

“Dean, where are we going?”

“You tell me, Sam. You can’t feel that?” Dean shook himself and stepped over a log. A strange sense of euphoria was starting to fill him now—bubbling along his nerves and making Dean have the strange urge to skip. Fucking _skip_. It was like he was on _drugs._

Sam frowned at Dean, staring for a few moments. Then he shivered. “What is that? And why are you the only one feeling it?”

Dean shrugged. “Fucked if I know.” His entire body was fucking tingling, alert and ready, and there was a warmth growing in his belly. Kind of like when Sam—Dean shoved the thought away. “But I know that it wants us to go this way.”

Pleasure and heat exploded along Dean’s skin and he hissed as his knees buckled, sending him crashing to the ground, kept up only by the hand Sam had clenched around his arm. “Dean!”

The world reeled around Dean, swirling madly before centering in around Sam’s grip. Dean yanked his arm away, kicking out at Sam in self-defense. “Fuck…” he moaned, curling in on himself. With Sam not touching him, Dean’s perception went back to normal but he still had aftershocks zipping through his system.

“Dean?” Sam asked, reaching for him.

Dean hunched up more and tried to crawl away. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Oh, God, Dean, I’m sorry!” Sam backed up a few steps, holding his hands up and Dean could actually think again. _Christ_. He pushed himself to his knees, riding out one last shiver. “Do you…do you think we really be following whatever it is you’re feeling, Dean?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean took a deep breath and stood up, swaying a little as his body tried to stabilize. No, they probably shouldn’t be but yet, somehow… “Yes. Yes, Sam, I really think we should.” It was fucking nuts but Dean didn’t think he could stomach the thought of turning around—which was all the more reason NOT to continue on.

“Dude,” Sam said. He looked like he wanted to grab Dean again but thankfully kept his hands to himself. “Look what it’s doing to you—”

“I don’t fucking know, alright? I just know that we have to go _this_ way,” Dean shouted as he pointed towards the north, “and then it will be fucking okay. Can we do that? Can we do that, Sam?”

“Fuck you,” Sam snapped. “I’m not the one collapsing on the ground like I belong in a hospital instead of a _forest_ , Dean.”

Dean growled. “I’m fucking _fine_ just don’t fucking _touch_ me.” Sam touching him either meant Dean jumping his bones or, apparently, him heading for the ground, waiting for Sam to jump his. Which was just fucking awesome. Dean straightened his clothes and picked up his gun before starting to walk again. The good news was that he knew they were close. So fucking close.

“If there’s more than one, we might be dealing with a pack,” Sam pointed out like Dean didn’t already know that. Which, yeah, would be fucking fantastic—instead of one monster, a whole freaking nest of them. A pack of _what_ was the question, though. A pack of changelings just meant a whole lot of fire—conspicuous but doable. If this was something that required complex rituals and wooden stakes cut under a blue moon, though, they were fucked. Dean knew better than to trust odd sensations and what the monsters wanted him to believe but it wasn’t like they were walking into this one completely unarmed.

Dean’s boot caught on a root and he stumbled, his hand stretching out to stop his fall. A shock of hot electricity raced through Dean’s nerves as his fingertips grazed Sam’s chest. Fucking _son_ of a _bitch_ … He jerked his hand away but at least he didn’t go down into a useless heap like the girl in improbably high heels at the start of every horror movie ever made. Jesus. So much for fucking dignity here. Sam didn’t say a word—didn’t have to because his fucking sigh said it all. Dean set his teeth and didn’t stop, just adjusted himself in his suddenly too tight pants and made sure to keep at least a foot or so between him and Sam.

The forest abruptly opened up into a clearing and Dean sucked in a harsh breath when he finally realized where they’d been heading all along. The stones in their precise lines spiraled out from where he was standing, setting up their maze only there was one key difference—the blood was gone. Not just scrubbed clean but out and out gone like it had never even existed.

“Dean?” Sam asked, glancing around the clearing.

Dean blinked and just like that she was there. He did a double take, staring at the woman that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the clearing. Beside him, he heard Sam’s breath catch and felt him going for his gun.

The woman was small and slender wrapped in a white gauze dress that flowed around her and moved gently in a breeze that wasn’t there. Long black hair poured down her back and she turned her pixie-like face towards Dean. She smiled and it was like being sucker-punched in broad daylight. Dean felt every other thought he’d ever had emptying out as she looked at him and slowly raised her hand, motioning him closer. He took a step forward, obeying the command that she hadn’t said.

Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain throbbed through Dean’s arm again and he swung his head around to see Sam pulling him backwards. “Sammy?” A blink later and the girl was in front of them, staring at the both of them. She glared at Sam and raised her hand, her nails forming claws as she growled, low and rumbling. Sam swallowed and his fear flooded through Dean’s senses, pushing Dean into instinctively stepping in front of him.

The woman’s growl stopped, her hand lowering, as she cocked her head at Dean. She smiled again, her mood shifting, and the stabbing pleasure that had been wrecking havoc through Dean’s nerves suddenly stopped, reverting back to the dull thrum that Dean was starting to associate with ‘normal’ now. As he stared, though, trying to shake off the aftereffects, she reached out and grabbed his face with both hands.

Dean’s breath hitched as terror flashed through him before it was replaced by a blanket of sheer contentment. The woman grinned as she moved Dean’s head from side to side, shaking him and checking out every angle like she was carefully inspecting him and Dean half expected her to look at his teeth. A click of a gun, though, over Dean’s shoulder, made her stop. She glanced up at the barrel of Sam’s Taurus and her shoulders shook as she chuckled.

Though she seemed to find Sam’s threat more funny than anything, she still released Dean and slowly stepped back, holding her hands out to the side. Sam shoved Dean behind him while Dean fought back, trying to keep himself in front of Sam—she obviously _liked_ Dean which is more than he could say for Sam but Sam was a stupid stubborn prick.

The woman’s head jerked up like a deer’s and she stood, listening. Then she glanced back at Sam and Dean, her hands making shooing motions, waving for them to go away. Sam stared at her over his gun, his lips twisted into a confused frown while Dean shrugged and started pushing Sam back towards the tree line. Apparently freaking Arwen wanted them to go hide—he could do that. She smiled again and put one finger over her lips, telling them to keep quiet as she blinked out of existence.

Sam finally got with the program, sliding behind a tree and ducking low with Dean. He still had his gun out, however, and Dean agreed, pulling out his own gun. Their shoulders were touching, Sam still smelled like melted chocolate with a spice-filled kick and a low heat was pooling inside of Dean but compared to earlier, it was definitely manageable. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus.

He heard what the woman had been listening to a few seconds later—a crashing through the woods as a voice whispered excitedly, “It’s right over here! Come on, come on!” Dean peeked around one side of the tree while Sam took the other and together they both swore. Deputy Johnny Thompkins came stumbling out of the woods, holding the hand of a girl, pulling her into the clearing after him. “See? What did I tell you?”

The girl—the one that had turned Dean down at the grocery store if he wasn’t mistaken—glanced around. “Wow,” she said, sounding like she wanted to be supportive but couldn’t summon up the enthusiasm. “Yeah, it’s great.”

“Yeah,” Thompkins said. “I think it’s got to be from a cult or something.”

“A cult?”

“Yeah—like animal spirit worshippers or something.”

The girl crossed her arms. “As in…Native Americans?”

Thompkins shook his head. “No, as in human sacrifices! Denise, this is freaking big! I’m going to be famous for discovering this, you know—for blowing the whole thing wide open. The guys on the site are going to just _love_ this!”

Denise sighed. “Johnny. Is this like when you expected Mrs. Ridge of poisoning the neighborhood rats to try and infect everybody?”

“No!” Johnny retorted, defensively. “But that old bitch is crazy anyway. She’s up to something—you saw how hard she beat me with her cane when I was next to her basement. You just know that she’d hiding bodies down there.”

“She just didn’t like you stepping on her daffodils—she wouldn’t have hit you otherwise!” Denise snapped her fingers. “No, I’ve got it—this is just like the time you were convinced that aliens were abducting the Johnsons’ cows!”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that anymore!” Thompkins whined. Dean sat back against the tree, holding his gun against his shoulder. Jesus. Apparently they hadn’t gotten the half of it the last time they’d talked to the deputy. Sam sat back down again too and Dean glanced over at him. Sam was staring straight ahead with his little ‘what the fuck?’ pout firmly in place—Sam had pouts for all occasions.

It was actually kind of adorable—as long as said pouts weren’t being directed at Dean for once.

“Johnny,” a new voice added, “I thought I told you not to come out here anymore.”

Dean glanced at Sam who nodded. They both returned to glancing around the tree. Jacobson was making his way out of the forest, stepping carefully over the stones. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his hat but he was still making Thompkins stutter.

“I-I-I wasn’t…”

Jacobson reached Thompkins and sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Johnny, he said, “why don’t you take Denise someplace nice? She doesn’t want to be stomping through these woods. Take her to a movie.” Dean wondered where Ronnie had gone—there was no sign of the kid. “If you leave now, I won’t say anything more, but only just this once. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Thompkins said quietly. The leaves rustled as he and Denise crashed back into the woods again, Thompkins holding her hand. After they left, Jacobson sighed again and put his hands on his hips, looking blankly ahead. Silence dropped around them, with not even a cricket to break it. Dean evened his breathing, keeping it quiet even as the silence started to freak him out.

Jacobson turned his head, looking straight where Sam and Dean were hiding.

Son of a bitch! Dean pulled back around, dropping himself to the ground, Sam slamming in beside him. The bastard had looked right at them—right the fuck at them. There was no sense in pretending that he hadn’t seen them. Dean counted to three, calming himself and stood.

“Dean!” Sam hissed, grabbing Dean’s coat, the melted chocolate scent turning bitter with a tinge of fear. Dean shook him off; they didn’t have time to be paying this cautiously—better to see Jacobson coming then to have him catch them hiding behind a damn tree. When Dean came out from around the tree, though, breaking cover, Jacobson was gone.

Dean glanced left and right, staring at the clearing but it was empty, nothing but him and rocks. He jerked back around and stared at Sam. “What?” Sam asked.

“Jacobson’s disappeared,” Dean said. Holding his gun high, he left the hiding spot, heading out onto the carefully arranged stones. There was no hint of Jacobson and no hint of the woman from before. “Shit.”

Sam showed up beside him, fingers reaching. Dean stepped to the side even as the buzzing tingle through his nerves kicked up a notch. Sam needed to learn to keep his damn hands to himself. It was like now that he’d confessed his true feelings or some such bullshit, he thought that it was just fucking open season. Dean walked a few more feet into the clearing, putting some distance between him and Sam. Sam pursed his lips and stared at the ground. “We should go back,” he said. “We didn’t plan for this.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded. He knew that Sam was right no matter how much he wished otherwise. There was nothing here for them to find—the woman and Jacobson would have made sure of that. There was just the symbols that they’d already sent off to Bobby and a hell of a lot more questions. Deep down, he knew that whatever had called him here—the woman, most likely—had gotten what it’d wanted. Whatever the fuck that was.

Going back, though, meant going back with Sam. That was almost worse then them finding nothing. Only ‘almost worse’ because if they could have ended this, they could have gone back to fucking normal. But they hadn’t, they couldn’t, and now Dean had to deal with being alone with Sam again—being alone with Sam when apparently neither of them had control over themselves, the curse scrambling both of their brains for the price of one.

Dean turned and punched a tree. “Damn it!” Pain rocketed up through his knuckles, throbbing and making him wince. He shook his hand, working out the stinging ache, railing at himself for being stupid because the bit of violence hadn’t helped. All it had done, judging by the few steps that Sam took towards Dean, was clue Sam into Dean being unsettled which was just fucking perfect. He was still going to be alone with Sam and a bundle of heat that Dean was starting to identify as lust curling in his body. It was worse because Sam was smelling even better than ever and apparently couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself. Dean sidestepped Sam’s grabby reach again. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “Let’s go.”

“Dean, we don’t know what we’re dealing with here—tonight just proved that.” Sam crossed his arms, staring Dean down as he stood in Dean’s space. “It’s too dangerous to be out here.”

“I’m not arguing, Sam!” Dean wanted to shove Sam but settled for stalking around him, heading off into the forest, back towards the cabin. “I said let’s go, for fuck’s sake.” Sam tried to grab for him one more time and Dean swung around on him. “I SAID keep your hands to yourself, Sam!” A shiver skated down his spine as a memory of Sam’s touch echoed through him and Dean snarled, starting towards the cabin again. He was so fucking screwed. Probably literally.

Dean kept himself at least five feet away from Sam during the entire long trip back to the cabin, trying his best to ignore the looks that Sam kept shooting at him. As long as Sam kept his distance, though, Dean would let him get away with the damn staring. If Dean was being honest, it wasn’t even Sam’s touch that he was trying to avoid or even the helpless lust that it inspired—it was the fact that he was starting to crave that touch, and, somehow, he knew it wasn’t just the curse talking, either. Dean had to keep reminding himself not to give in, to try and fight this, because every time Sam reached for him, Dean wanted to lean into it. Fuck, did he ever.

And that meant that it was completely off-limits. Even if Sam did smell like the best damn chocolate ever made and his touch made Dean want to believe that there was a God. He couldn’t fucking give in to this. He couldn’t!

But the fact remained that Dean was painfully aware of just how much control he had over the whole damn situation. He swallowed and glanced back at Sam, his eyes running over inch of Sam’s body as Sam navigated through a snarling thicket. Like a damn dog drooling over a steak for fuck’s sake. Dean snarled at himself and turned back around, trying to focus.

It was bad enough he was already aware of how easily he would roll over for Sam and that his body fully intended on doing it again, his wishes be damned. He didn’t have to spend every fucking waking moment dwelling on it.

Sam wanted him to, though. Sam was willing to do all of this, or so he said. Claimed that it was his damn teenage fantasy. Christ but they were fucked up. His baby brother wanted to fuck him and Dean was starting to consider that just par for the damn course. Who thought that? Who actually shrugged their shoulders and said ‘whatever’ to a little bit of incest?

Fucked up people, that was who. People that were fucked in the goddamned head—which described them to a damn T.

And what if—just what if—Sam was actually right? What if when the curse was lifted, Sam would still want this? That he had always wanted it? Knowing that, would Dean give in? Even if Dean didn’t want to? He’d always done so much for Sam, was letting Sam fuck his ass less like an uncrossable line and more like the next damn step? Yeah, compared to giving up the last of the Lucky Charms, it was a little much to ask, but compared to beating the living shit out of some bully that threatened Sam? At least no one was getting hurt with the incest. Physically, anyway.

Okay, well, at least not permanently. And judging by the way Sam seemed to come absolute buckets, it was only Dean that ended up sore. Not that Dean didn’t enjoy the hell out of it—there was the line again. There was that line that Dean kept flirting with.

Regardless of how much Sam wanted this or what he felt or even that Dean couldn’t control himself, it was one thing to be cursed into fucking your brother. It was bad and wrong and sick but, in the world they lived in, it was still probable and maybe, possibly, understandable. It was quite another, though, to be okay with that fact.

If they kept this up much longer, Dean didn’t know how long it would take until he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. He’d always craved Sam’s touch, Sam’s affections—this was the same yearning Dean had been dealing with for years except with the dial cranked to eleven and that new sexual overtone added. He glanced back at Sam again, gnawing on his lower lip.

Sammy wanted to fuck him. Sammy, his baby brother, apparently _liked_ fucking him. The line was already gone for Sam. Question was: had it ever been there? Sam said that he’d been wanting this for years; maybe the line had never even existed for Sam. How was that for fucked-up?

Dean rubbed his forehead, feeling an onset of a headache. It was just too much to contemplate—it wasn’t every day that a guy had his entire reason for living flipped upside and turned on its ear. He needed some space. Only he was heading back to the cabin with Sam and he knew that he wasn’t going to get any there. There wasn’t any other safe place to go, either, and, more than that, Dean _didn’t want to go_.

No, he knew that he was going back to the cabin with Sam and he knew exactly what he was going to do there. It made him want to punch another damn tree but there it was. Fuck! He was already hard in his jeans in anticipation and he wondered if Sam knew that. He wondered if Sam was all worked up, too, if maybe Sam would just ignore Dean’s order not to touch him and slam up against the side of the cabin. Wondered if Sam would take him hard and fast so that Dean didn’t even have to think.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the cabin’s clearing even as his cock gave a hopeful twitch. Christ. Dean hoped that after this was all over, he didn’t have a fetish for cabins—unable to even look at one without getting hard. Sam was still the requisite five feet behind Dean but Dean could still smell him as they walked along the path that they’d already started to form in the grass. Dean jumped up the steps of the cabin’s front porch and shifted from foot to foot as he waited impatiently, arguing with himself. He shook his legs, trying to get the wetness of his jeans like a dog before just giving up.

He couldn’t believe that he was going to let this happen. Matter of fact, he _wasn’t_ going to let this happen. He was just going to be fucking normal for once and ignore what his body was screaming, tell Sam ‘no’ and him and Sam were just going to figure this bitch out and go on to live happy, non-incest-filled lives.

Yeah. And Dean owned the fucking Golden Gate Bridge, too.

He darted inside the cabin, stopping in the middle of it and waited. Just fucking waited. He kicked off his boots, tossing them against the wall to make it that much easier on them. Dean wasn’t saying yes—he still knew where the line was—but you couldn’t fight the inevitable. Sam would know what to do. He was a smart boy. Dean felt ready to explode, to burst into a million, tiny pieces all over the cabin walls and his hunger was threatening to eat him alive. He _needed_ it.

Sam, though, hadn’t gotten the fucking memo or something because he bypassed Dean and headed straight for the couch, sitting down as he booted up the laptop. No wall sex in sight—not even a rough hump.

Dean swallowed. Okay. Maybe Sam wanted it…there. He could do this—he could. He sat down next to Sam and stared ahead at the wall. Sam slanted him a look. “Obviously not a werewolf,” he said.

Dean kept his eyes focused straight ahead, analyzing the pattern of the wood. “Yeah, but we knew that. Pagan god?” he ventured. His heart wasn’t particularly in the guess but it was a good one considering the woman that they’d met in the woods.

“Could be.” And yes, that was definitely Sam’s thigh underneath Dean’s hand. Dean cursed himself even as his heart rate sped up. He didn’t even have the patience to wait until Sam was onboard, damn it anyway. He wasn’t going to do this—he wasn’t going to force Sam or give him ideas or anything. Except that Dean could feel the roughness of Sam’s jeans and the heat of his body. His fingers stroked along the inseam, casually exploring. It felt—Sam felt…nice. Dean swallowed. Yeah. Touching Sam felt nice. Better than nice—fucking perfect, actually. He sucked in a deep breath and finally let his hand move where it wanted, straight to Sam’s crotch.

Sam caught his hand, holding it still on the bulge of his dick. “Dean.” Dean shook his head. No, they weren’t discussing this. They were just going to do it and get it over with and there was not going to be any talking. The hunger would be gone, Sam would be happy and Dean wouldn’t have to think about how good Sam would feel at least until the curse regained its momentum. “Dean, you said you don’t want this.”

“I don’t,” Dean replied thickly. He really, really didn’t. Except for the part where he did.

“Then what are you doing?” Sam asked, standing up, pulling away from Dean’s hands.

Dean bit back the urge to whimper at Sam leaving him but he couldn’t keep the patheticness out of his voice. “I need it.” Sam didn’t come back down, so he tried again. “I need it, Sammy.”

“Dean I can’t do this.” Sam couldn’t mean that. He hadn’t had a problem before and _Jesus_ , it felt like Dean was going to tear in _two_. He needed this and Sam was going to say _no_? “You don’t want this,” Sam repeated like that little fact made a difference at all.

“Sam…” Dean raised his hand, placing it back on Sam’s crotch. God, even just that felt amazing. Sam started to back away, though, so Dean raised his eyes to meet Sam’s. “Please,” he tried. Oh God, _please_!

“Fuck,” Sam whispered and it was like his strings were cut—he collapsed on top of Dean, legs straddling Dean’s lap as he buried his nose in Dean’s hair. “Dean, you’ve got to tell me yes. Tell me yes, Dean.”

Sam didn’t know what the fuck he was asking. He _couldn’t_ know what he was asking. There was no way that Dean could willingly let himself go through with this—he just couldn’t stop himself! There was a damn line that Dean had to follow. Why didn’t Sam understand that? Sam didn’t know, couldn’t know, what it was like. If he said yes, it would mean that he was agreeing to do this. It would mean that he was…

“Say yes, Dean, please, say yes.” Sam moved on top of Dean, grinding himself down and fuck, he was hard, his zipper bulging with the weight of his big dick. Yeah, Dean needed this. He so fucking needed it. Dean arched into Sam with a little moan, drawing out an answering, shaky whine.

“Sam, just—” Do it already. Get it over with. _Take the choice out of Dean’s hands._

“Tell me you want this, Dean,” Sam pleaded, hands skimming along Dean’s neck. “Tell me. Say yes.” Each touch was a mini array of fireworks across Dean’s skin.

He just fucking needed—“Yes, Sam,” Dean whispered.

Sam shuddered, his entire body shaking with it. “Yes?”

Damn Sam for making him say it. “Yes, I want it.” Dean could always claim later on that it had been a lie.

Even if they both knew otherwise.

“Oh thank God,” Sam said and pressed his lips to Dean’s, licking his way inside. It was electric and Dean felt his entire body sit up at attention even as he started to melt against Sam. Fuck, but it was perfect.

Sam changed up the angle, fitting their mouths better together as he stood up, pulling Dean along with him. Dean followed him blindly, not particularly caring where they were going just as long as Sam didn’t stop touching him. Sam pulled him close, running his hands down Dean’s back as he moved them away from the couch.

Dean grabbed Sam’s hair, trying to hold him still long enough for Dean to kiss him properly. Sam groaned, his hands sliding down to grip Dean’s ass and Dean whimpered as Sam pushed him backward. “Yeah,” Sam said. “God yeah…” and Dean agreed.

The back of his knees hit a surface, stopping him from being able to move but Sam pressed him further, toppling him over backwards. Dean’s arms flailed out, trying to stop himself from falling but Sam was following him down, a firm pressure against him. They bounced, softness underneath Dean and he had a moment’s confusion of wondering how they’d gotten into the bedroom before Sam erased everything simply by unbuttoning Dean’s fly and sticking his hand into Dean’s jeans.

Dean arched up, desperate to get Sam to touch him some more, as Sam’s fingers skimmed along his dick and dipped below his balls. “Oh fuck…” Dean gasped and Sam hummed in agreement, finally breaking away from Dean’s mouth to turn his attention to Dean’s neck, worrying a piece of skin between his teeth. Dean hissed at the bit of pain as it zinged through his already over sensitized nerves and clutched Sam’s shoulder, trying to keep himself grounded.

He couldn’t help it, though—it felt so good. He was going to fly away, he was going to shatter, he was going to—Sam licked the abused skin in an unrepentant apology, nuzzling at the ache.

_Mine…_ Sam hadn’t said it out loud but it was in Dean’s head loud and clear and Dean was just gone. “Yeah,” he panted. “Yeah, oh fuck, oh fuck…” He was _owned_. Owned by Sammy—Sammy who was stripping off his shirt and shoving his hot hands back inside Dean’s pants and _Christ_ —“Please,” Dean gasped, the word slipping out without his consent. Like through a broken dam, the rest came flooding out, “please fuck me, God, _please_ , Sammy…”

“Yes,” Sam said, his fingers slipping back down, his index pressing inside. Dean bit his lip, his hips lifting off the bed as Sam twisted inside of him, making him shudder. Fuck, but Sam had to hurry up. Dean was going to die if he didn’t.

“Fuck,” Sam swore and reared back to start yanking off Dean’s jeans. Dean helped him eagerly, wiggling out of them and kicking them off. Then Sam was grabbing Dean’s ankle, pulling Dean’s legs apart as he positioned himself and slowly pushed in.

Dean threw his head to the side, pressing against the mattress as fought through the pain-filled pleasure—fuck, but Sam had a monster cock. Yet Dean knew that he didn’t want Sam to stop—not ever. There was a building heat inside of him, overtaking the hunger that he’d been feeling before, and Dean needed more. He wrapped a leg around Sam’s waist, trying to pull him in closer and Sam collapsed on top of Dean, burying his face in the join of Dean’s neck and shoulder. He sucked on the skin, wetting it and pulling it into his mouth as he rolled his hips in a small, tight, circle—not enough to be a thrust, but still movement that had Dean gasping as it pulled at him. “God, Sam, stop teasing…”

Sam bit down on the skin he’d been sucking on, a small warning before he drew back and slammed back into Dean. Stars exploded behind Dean’s eyes. “Fuck!”

“You okay?” Sam panted, sounding so unwilling to stop Dean wondered why he was even bothering to ask. His eyes stared earnestly down at Dean but Dean could feel the tremors racking his body, showing how hard it was for him to hold still. Dean didn’t bother to answer him, just dragged him down for a kiss, wrapping his tongue around Sam’s and Sam moaned, his hips starting to find a rhythm.

Sam gripping him with both hands as he fucked inside of him, pining him to the bed but far from making Dean claustrophobic, it made him feel warm and protected—owned, perfect. His orgasm took him by surprise, shuddering out of him as Sam kept moving. “God,” Dean gasped, his head lolling to the side as Sam seemed determined to fuck him into the bed.

Sam kissed his way down Dean’s neck, stopping at the bottom to suck another hickey onto Dean’s skin. Dean ran his hands over Sam’s shoulders, feeling the muscles flex and strain, and gave in, feeling the hunger and the heat wash over him. Then Sam’s breath was hitching and he was coming and everything turned to blessed nothingness—everything except for the heavy press of Sam above him. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, nuzzling against his face and let the world slip away for just a little while.

\---

Dean pulled himself out of Sam’s sleepy embrace, ignoring Sam’s muttered protests. He wasn’t running away—he just needed some air. That was all. Just some air. Dean slipped out from under the heavy quilt that they’d pulled over themselves and Sam rolled over, going back to sleep.

Good.

Dean wandered out into the living room. He’d definitely say that he’d crossed the line. Somewhere along the way, that line had just fucking disappeared and it was upsetting Dean that he didn’t even seem to care.

Sam didn’t care, but they both knew that. Sam certainly had no problem fucking his older brother. Dean winced, rubbing at the sore spots on his neck that he was sure were turning into very obvious hickeys like he was freaking 13 again. And he wasn’t even going to think about the pain in his ass.

Christ, Sam was _huge._ When the Hell had Sam gotten so damn big? Sometime in between when Dean had stopped taking baths with his baby brother and…now.

But, no. Sam had no problem with fucking, biting, licking, or doing any other –ing to his brother—to Dean. In fact, he had definitely seemed to enjoy it.

Not that Dean could say he hadn’t either. Fuck, but there’d been a line there, somewhere, Dean was certain of it and he’d definitely crossed it. Somewhere in between refusing to admit to this and begging Sam to fuck him.

Christ, that was not only fucking twisted but embarrassing. Because yeah, not only had Dean told Sam that he wanted it, he had a distinct memory of saying “Please, please, fuck me, God, please, Sammy.” Dean groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Was it that bad?” a voice asked him casually and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look behind him and found Ronnie, the kid from before, sprawled on the couch, smirking at him and eying him up and down. Dean froze and regretted his decision not to at least grab his jeans. “You’re supposed to be dead,” Ronnie said conversationally and pointedly stared at the bruises on Dean’s neck.

The kid looked just like Dean remembered—as much as he could remember—except for the long scratch traveling along the entire left side of his face. Dean narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders. “And you’re supposed to be running away from Jacobson. He give you that?” he asked, jerking his head back, stalling.

How the fuck had the thing gotten in here without him and Sam noticing? Because yes, thing—the kid sitting there on the couch, Dean was pretty damn sure wasn’t human. Dean glanced over at the salt lines, the runes, the traps…

“Those don’t work on me,” Ronnie explained, sounding bored. “The one might if I had been made ‘properly’ but, since I’m _flawed_ , it doesn’t matter.”

“So you fucked-up.”

“No!” Ronnie snarled. “It wasn’t my fault that I wasn’t suited! Unlike some, apparently.” He glared at Dean and Dean could stop himself from taking an instinctive step back. “She _likes_ you. I can smell her on you—smell her approval.”

“And what the fuck does that mean?” Dean asked.

“Figures that the first person in half a _century_ to be suited for turning and you’re a hunter.” Ronnie turned his head to look at out the window on his left. “She can’t sustain me for long,” he said sadly. “I need—” He stopped himself and turned to look at Dean, consideringly. “Maybe yours will make me whole. I think I’ll take it now. You're not dead like you should be, but maybe that will just make it better.”

“Oh, like hell you will.” Dean wasn’t sure exactly what of his Ronnie wanted but Dean was certain that he wouldn’t like it. He glanced at the duffle beside the couch, wondering if he could grab it before Ronnie noticed.

Ronnie lunged at him, moving faster than Dean had anticipated, and Dean threw himself to the right, just barely rolling out of the way. Ronnie crashed into the kitchen and Dean scrambled for the duffle—if only he could grab a gun, a knife, _anything_ … Heavy hands forced him down to the floor, slamming him against the wooden boards, making his head reel. Dean rolled over, thoughts of a half-remembered public restroom interspersing themselves over his current reality. “Fuck…” he muttered, shaking his head.

Above him, Ronnie was staring down at him and, fuck, his face was changing, growing, getting longer. Dean tensed and tried to skitter out from underneath him. Was the fucker _morphing_? Dean shoved at the creature on top of him, trying to shove him off but he might as well be heaving at a brick wall for all that Ronnie moved. Dean bit his lip and kept trying, forcing the sense of déjà vu away. Ronnie’s hands were growing sharper, digging in to Dean’s flesh and pain was rocketing along Dean’s nerves. “Get _off_ of me!” Dean shouted.

A long bang erupted in the cabin and Ronnie yelped, leaping off of Dean and scrambling for his feet. Behind him, Sam was running up to Dean, standing next to him and aiming again as Ronnie careened into the front door. Another shot and Ronnie screamed but threw himself out of the cabin, disappearing into the night. “Damn it!” Sam swore, lowering the gun.

He was panting as he turned to Dean. “Did he get you?” Sam asked, dropping to the floor to check. Dean was checking himself, patting his hands over his chest just to make sure that everything was there.

“No,” Dean said, relieved, and dropped his head back against the floor. Besides the lingering ache in his arms where Ronnie had been holding him down, he appeared to be fine. _Christ_ … Sam apparently didn’t believe him and pawed at his chest as well, running his fingers quickly over Dean’s body. Dean let him, the constant hum that Sam’s touch caused now constant enough to be considered background noise. He chose instead to stare out the blood-splattered door that Ronnie had fled through. “We should go after him.”

Sam’s hands stopped. “You want us to go chasing after the monster wolf that almost killed you in the dark.”

“It’s already attacked, Sam. It obviously knows where we’re at.” It was either take the battle to it or move and Dean had the sneaking suspicion that if they chose the latter, it’d just find them again, anyway.

“Dean,” Sam growled, “you’re such a fucking liar.”

“What are you talking about, Sam?” Dean snapped. They didn’t have time to go through this!

“You’re _bleeding_ , Dean. He’s already wounded you and you want to go beg him for more.” Dean blinked at Sam wondering what the fuck he was talking about and Sam raised Dean’s arm. Ronnie’s not yet formed claws had apparently broken through his skin.

“Fuck,” Dean said, eyeing the damage as Sam got up and grabbed Dean’s duffle from the corner, pulling out the first aid kit. Dean rolled his arm. No wonder he was still feeling it, then. At least the claw marks weren’t that deep—the fucker hadn’t had enough time.

“Yeah, ‘fuck’,” Sam repeated sarcastically, pulling out the antiseptic and a couple of bandages. He starting wrapping one of the bandages around Dean’s arm, making it tighter than was absolutely necessarily, Dean was sure. “What did it want?” Sam asked. He shook his hair out of his eyes.

Dean grunted as Sam finished up the first arm and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Don’t know, but I’m guessing my heart?” Sam’s mouth thinned, not liking the answer, and Dean rolled to his knees. “We’re going after it.”

“We won’t find it,” Sam replied stubbornly, moving closer to wrap the last bandage around Dean’s left bicep.

“Bullshit—you hit the thing. It’s gotta be leaving a trail.” More than that, there was something tugging at the corner of Dean’s mind. Like a scream heard from a mile off. Dean wondered if Sam could feel it, too.

“A trail that we can track in the dark? Dean—”

Dean stood up and cut Sam off, shaking him off as well and sealing the bandage himself. “If we wait until morning, Sam, it’s gonna come back.”

“And you know that how? You said it yourself, Dean, I shot it. It’s going to spend the night licking its wounds.”

“And then sheriff is going to have it covered up.” Dean glanced down. Or maybe Pete would do them a favor and just kill Ronnie for them. Of course, that meant that _Pete_ would probably be the one coming after them… “It’s gotta be tonight, Sam.” Something was telling him that this couldn’t wait. Something was telling him that they had to _follow_ , just like out in the woods. “I think that woman we met at the cult site is going to be there.”

“Dean, we still don’t even know what we’re dealing with here and you want to go track it on its territory in the middle of the night?” Put that way, it sounded reasonable enough just that… “Using whatever fucked-up senses IT gave you? Whatever happened to ‘not embracing the evil powers,’ Dean?”

Dean winced. “Sam—”

“What if it’s a trap, Dean?”

“You telling me you’re not feeling it, too?” Dean asked. Even if Sam wasn’t feeling it, he damn well knew what Dean was going through.

The muscle in Sam’s jaw jumped as Sam clenched his teeth, betraying Sam’s thoughts no matter how much he wanted to keep them wrapped up. “Dean, we’re not doing this.”

“Yeah we are, Sam.” They weren’t going to argue about this. They didn’t have the time and if Sam was feeling what Dean was, then he had to know that _too._ Dean had no idea what was happening but something inside him told him it was big and it was happening _now_. “Now grab your pants because we’re going.”

  
[Part 4](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/143973.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Part 6](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/144482.html)  



	6. dragonspell

  
[Part 5](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/144225.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Art Post](http://samndeankissing.livejournal.com/27901.html)  


 

Sam wondered if that gigantic ball of pain he felt pulling at his mind was really Ronnie like Dean kept insisting or if it was something that Dean was attempting to cover up. That would be just like Dean to pull something like that, claiming that the hunt was more important than any injury he might have. Sam glanced over at Dean who was staring straight ahead out the windshield as he focused on driving the Impala down the narrow two-track, the headlights just barely casting enough light to avoid the trees.

There was a growing kernel in Sam’s head, telling him that this was a big fucking mistake and that they should have stayed put but he had no idea if that was a warning from whatever creature they were dealing with or just his own fears talking. Dean sure felt like they should be doing this, though—risking the Impala’s life and all.

They emerged onto the main road, turning to the left. “He’s at the inn, isn’t he?” Sam asked, just to say something. They both already knew. But Dean nodded anyway, driving down to the Inn’s driveway, passing the beaten-in mailbox and turning, the Impala’s wheels crunching over the gravel. Dean parked the Impala a little ways back, killing the engine, and glanced over at Sam. Sam nodded that, yeah, they were really going to do this and together, they got out.

The inn’s door was hanging even more ajar than normal, one hinge completely snapped off and the others just barely hanging on. There was no doubt anymore that Ronnie had headed toward the Inn. Dean pulled out his nickel-plated Colt as he crept forward, boots noiseless on the ground. Sam followed, pulling out the Taurus as he kept a close eye on the surrounding area, watching for a possible ambush.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean whispered and Sam inched next to him to peer over his shoulder.

Blood splatters covered the wooden floor and the runner at the front desk before a pool gathered in the center of the room and a trail led over to the stairs on the right. There was a body lying on its back at the foot of the stairs, arms stretched out, and even from this distance, Sam could make out the bald head and what remained of a sweater vest. Brian, the innkeeper, stared up at the ceiling, his mouth open in a silent scream. His chest had been ripped open from collar bone to groin, his insides spilling out to stain the floor. Part of his intestines where traveling up the stairs and Sam swallowed down the urge to puke.

Dean crept closer to the body, every now and then stopping to scan the rest of the room and the upstairs balcony. He stopped within a few feet of the stairs, grimacing even as he leaned in closer. “The heart’s gone,” he said, jerking backwards. “Fuck.” Sam nodded and glanced up the stairs where more blood was smeared on the runner. At least they knew where the heart had gone. Sam jerked his head towards the trail and Dean nodded, still twisted in distaste.

“And just what are you boys doing here?” a weary voice asked and Sam jumped but Dean looked unsurprised, automatically straightening to look at the balcony.

“Pete,” Dean said, aiming his gun. “Knew you’d be here.”

Sheriff Jacobson walked the length of the balcony and stood at the top of the stairs, shoulders slumped as he stared down at them. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“So you are in on it.” Dean stepped closer to the stairs, cocking the gun.

“There’s nothing here for you, Dean.” Jacobson was quietly watching Dean move closer, standing guard on the top step.

“Bullshit. There’s a whole lot of evil motherfuckers. Like you.” Dean stepped over Brian’s ruined body, starting to climb the stairs.

Jacobson nodded at the body. “He was one of us, too.” Dean paused, frowning as he glanced back down the stairs.

“But he’s dead,” Sam blurted, staring at Brian’s dead body like it was suddenly going to get up and walk again. If Brian was dead, did that mean that there was more of a severe fissure in the ranks than they’d suspected? And who’d killed him?

“Yes,” Jacobson replied.

“Christ,” Dean snarled, “Is the whole fucking town in on it?” That was a good fucking question, Sam thought. Obviously Deputy Thompkins wasn’t but who else of the townsfolk had known all along? Who else had Sam and Dean wasted their time talking to?

“I told you before, Dean: we take care of our own. Now, there’s nothing _here for you_.” Jacobson gripped the stairway railing, using it to anchor himself in place.

“Like fuck—” Dean started.

“You don’t want to kill us,” Sam interrupted, the epiphany smacking him upside the head. If Jacobson had wanted them dead, Sam had no doubt that they’d already be fighting for their lives.

Dean blinked. “What? Fuck, Sam, he’s one of _them_ —”

“He doesn’t want to kill us,” Sam repeated before turning to pose the question to Jacobson. “Do you?”

Jacobson shifted his weight, taking awhile to answer. “…We don’t believe in it,” he said finally.

“Oh, bullshit! You’ve already killed—”

Jacobson lunged forward but caught himself on the railing, not leaving the top step. “Ronnie is not one of us,” he snarled. “She can’t sustain him like us. He’s a _thing_. She never should have—” Glass shattered, echoing through the inn and Jacobson whirled, staring back into the hallway. “No!” he shouted, running towards the sound, leaving Sam and Dean talking to empty air.

“Fuck!” Dean swore, bounding up the steps after him, gun raised and looking for a shot.

“Dean!” Sam leapt over Brian’s body and climbed the stairs, too. Dean ducked down the hallway Jacobson disappeared into, turning the corner and Sam jumped the last few steps, trying to catch up to him. He knew that if he didn’t stop Dean, he was probably going to do something stupid and _Jacobson didn’t want to kill them_.

A howl had Dean jerking to the right, turning and kicking open the door next to him. Sam ran into him, overshooting his mark like a baseball player heading past first and shoved him into the wall. Dean slammed against the drywall, already turning to try and fight Sam off, get him out of the way. Dean shoved Sam to the side, raising his gun and Sam glanced over just into to see a large gray wolf jumping out of the second story window.

“Fuck!” Dean pushed Sam away from him and ran to the window, staring down into the night. A snarl, then a yelp, echoed through the air and Dean turned back towards the door. Sam caught his arm. “What the fuck is your problem?” Dean demanded. “They’re getting away!”

“Jacobson doesn’t want to kill us!” Sam shouted, grabbing a hold of him with both hands and shaking him. Dean was going to fucking get himself _killed_ and it was going to be for nothing!

“Sam, I don’t know if you noticed or not, but Jacobson’s that goddamned _wolf_ down there!” Dean jerked out of Sam’s grasp, pointing out the window.

“Who’s apparently trying to kill the other one!”

“Monsters, Sam! They’re goddamned _monsters_!” Dean ran for the door, careening out of the room.

“Dean!” Sam called after him as he followed. “Damn it—” A rush of electricity zipped up Sam’s spine, stopping him dead in his tracks and seizing in his brain, sending him reeling towards the floor. Sam collapsed, his body twitching with the voltage searing his nerves. He arched and gasped as he stared up at the ceiling, unable to do much more. A familiar woman leaned over him, her small pixie-like face curious as watched him writhe. Sam’s eyes rolled—the best he could manage as he struggled to grab her.

“He’s impetuous,” she said. Sam hadn’t known that she’d been able to speak. She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and pursed her lips. “That must be troublesome for you. You should have given him to me. You still should.” She cocked her head to the side. “I would take good care of him.”

Sam tried to talk, to say anything, but his voice just wasn’t there and he flopped against the floor, still riding out the power in his body. The woman stepped over him, the white gauze of her dress skimming over Sam’s body as she headed towards the stairs. “I won’t let him get far. Peter would kill him if he had to but you are one of us now. We shouldn’t let that happen—our kind is too rare to waste.”

Sam gasped, kicking out his legs. He had to get up, he had to move! Except when he tried to convince his body to turn over, to get up, all he got was his arm twitching and his head lolling to the side. Like his body didn’t understand the commands, like there was a short-circuit in his nerves.

He fought down the panic—he had to help Dean—and tried to focus, his body shuddering with the effort. He jerked with one last shock of electricity before managing to flop onto his stomach. “Yes…” Sam breathed, bringing his still twitching limbs underneath him to push himself up.

He made it to his knees but didn’t dare stand up, instead crawling out in to the hallway, heading for the stairs, heading for Dean—Dean who was lying dead still against the wall at the top of the stairs.

_Dean!_ Sam tried to shout, grimacing when he realized that he couldn’t draw in enough breath to actually voice it. Swallowing, he tried again. “…dean…”

Dean twitched, raising a hand to grab his head as he groaned. “What the fuck was _that_?” He shook his head and focused on Sam. “Sammy?”

Sam crawled next to him, pulling himself along to collapse on the floor beside Dean. “I don’t know,” Sam said truthfully.

“My legs aren’t working.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Yeah, mine aren’t, either.”

“Christ.” Dean thumped his head against the wall. In the lowlight of the hotel hallway, Sam could still make out the freckles that dotted his face. “I think I got hit by a bus.”

“She’s a little too small to be a bus,” Sam answered, sitting up.

“She?”

“Yeah…” Sam gave into an impulse and leaned against Dean, feeling how well they fit together. “The girl from the woods. She’s here.” Dean was warm and comforting beside Sam. Sam gave up all pretense of keeping himself separated and let himself drop against Dean. A pleasant thrum filled his body, easing out the residual pain that the woman had left in him. “She’s—” Sam’s voice cut out again and he swallowed, trying to get more spit in his mouth. “I think she’s the leader.”

Dean frowned and turned to look at Sam, nearly hitting Sam with his nose as they were so close. Sam could feel Dean’s breath hitch as he tried to suck in a breath. “Ronnie mentioned a ‘she.’” Sam nodded. Dean was beautiful. Dean had always been beautiful. “We should probably go find them.”

“What?” Sam asked, uncertain if he’d heard that right.

Dean pushed him off and slowly stood up on wobbling legs. “The bitch that hit us and Jacobson and Ronnie. We should probably go find them.”

“And do what, Dean?” Sam leaned back against the wall. “She took us out as easily as swatting a fly.” Not to mention her performance in the woods. Sam had the sneaking suspicion that if they went head to toe with whatever she was, it wouldn’t end pretty. “What do you think we could do if we found them? Die?”

Dean glared. “You’re the one saying that Jacobson doesn’t want to kill us.”

“But he would if he had to.” Sam was willing to bet that Jacobson wouldn’t even blink.

“Well, then, what do you want to do, Sam?” Dean steadied himself against the wall as the force of his words knocked him off balance. “Just throw in the towel, call this hunt good enough and go the fuck home? Is that what you want to do? Just let people keep dying?”

Sam sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Okay, so maybe Dean had a point. But, damn it, Sam had a point, too, and if Dean would just _admit_ that—

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a flash of white and he turned as fast as he dared. The woman from earlier stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking sadly down at Brian’s body, and in her left hand, she clutched a fist full of blond hair attached to…

Sam’s eyes widened. “Is that…?”

“Ronnie’s head,” Dean confirmed darkly.

The woman turned to look at them. “He never meant it,” she said, bringing Ronnie’s head up to show them. “When he said that he loved me, he never meant it. Brian…Brian always meant it.” She tossed Ronnie’s head away, letting it roll across the floor. A sharp hiss came from the doorway and Sam looked up to see Jacobson standing beside the broken jambs, looking torn up and grim as he stared at the severed head, his face brittle and hard. He’d lost his hat and his coat was in tatters around him, hanging on by just a few threads. The woman ignored him, instead kneeling down beside the dead innkeeper and stroking the back of her hand over his forehead. “He had such beautiful fur.”

Sam stared at the scene happening below, mesmerized, but beside him, he felt Dean fumble for his gun.

“You already know that will do you no good,” she said and Dean froze.

“Sarah.” The woman raised her hand, finally acknowledging Jacobson. He’d finally looked up from his contemplation of Ronnie’s remains and was focusing on the woman. “Time to get out of here.”

She nodded and brushed a kiss against Brian’s forehead before standing up and turning to face Sam and Dean again. “I am sorry for what Ronnie did,” she told them, “I can make it better for you.” She held out her hands, trying to coax them down the stairs. Dean swayed, his eyes glazing over, but Sam grabbed him, keeping him put. Dean shook himself sluggishly, like he was coming out of a daze and the woman quirked a smile. “You have a better hold over him than I thought,” she said, tilting her head again. “You should give him to me.”

Dean moved again, though he stepped backward this time, shaking his head in a definite no. ‘Sarah’ held her hands out wider and glared at Sam. “ _Give him to me._ ”

Sam glowered back, keeping a firm hold on Dean. “ _No._ ”

“The longer you are exposed to him, the more he will change you,” she told them and Sam wasn’t sure what she was talking about besides the fact that he was definitely _not_ going to let her take Dean away from him. They stared at each other, at an impasse until she finally dropped her hands. “Fine. Keep your guardian,” she sniffed. She sulked for a few moments and then her personality turned a complete 180. She swirled her hands outward again, coaxing. “But let me help you.”

Sam swallowed, making sure he kept a firm grip on Dean. “You can fix this?” he asked quietly. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer—he didn’t _want_ this to be fixed. God help him, but he didn’t.

The woman quirked her head. “Fix?”

Dean shook himself again, fully this time, like a dog, waking up from whatever she had done to him. “Make us normal again,” he snapped. Sam winced—they were never going to be ‘normal’ again. He had his doubts if they’d ever been ‘normal,’ regardless of what Dean thought.

She tilted her head the other way. “Why?” she asked as if the idea was completely foreign to her. It probably was.

“Why? What the fuck do you mean by ‘why’—”

In a blink, she was beside them, her finger over Dean’s lips, silencing him. “There is no going back,” she said. “It is a gift.”

“A _gift_?” Dean barked, shaking her off. “You call being turned into some kind of damn creature a gift?” He tried to backpedal, to put some distance in between her and him but he ran into Sam’s chest. Sam gripped Dean’s arm, letting him know that he was there.

She smiled sadly. “You were not asked but it was a gift, nonetheless. You are one of us now—but only half. He did not have the power to change you all the way. He should not have had the power to change you at all, but, he was flawed—always draining me of more than he needed. Like a sieve because he could not hold it.” She stepped back and held up her hands again. This close, Sam could see that they were glowing with a faint white light. “Let me help you.”

Dean snarled but Sam held him still. “You mean change him all the way, don’t you?”

The woman smiled. “Yes. And you too. Guardians do not do well unless they have their provider and he seems to have chosen.” Sam frowned, the word ‘provider’ bouncing around in his head. Before he could ask the question, however, she answered it for him. “The one that sustains him.”

Sam swallowed. “You’re talking about—”

“His hunger. Yes. He is newborn and Ronnie meant him to die, but he was fortunate—he had you.” She rolled her hands again. “You were able to sustain him when you both should have perished—him of starvation and you of emptiness.”

Dean was standing to the side, watching them both, his head swiveling from Sam to the woman. Sam asked the question that they were both thinking. “Why?”

She shrugged. “You were suited for it. Rare. Lucky.” Her hand suddenly struck out, a fingernail scraping down Sam’s neck.

“Ow!” Sam jumped backward as he felt a pinch of pain, clapping his hand over his vulnerable throat and discovering a small bead of blood, much to his horror. Dean scrambled for his gun again but she merely smiled, touching her sharp, bloodied nail to her lips.

“You have special blood,” she said. “Tainted.”

“This is such _bullshit,_ ” Dean cut-in. “You’re saying that Sam has to feed me with _sex_. We don’t want to be part of your perverted, freaky-deaky sex cult, okay? Just turn us back to normal, already!”

The woman stared at him. “No.” She held up her glowing hands again, making Dean hiss and push Sam back to avoid having her touch him. “Complete you. Sustain you with connection and energy.”

“And what happens if you don’t… ‘complete’ us?” Sam asked. The woman glanced up at Sam as if wondering why he would ever want such a thing. “Will we still be…human?” His eyes flickered over to catch Dean’s. “Are we going to die?”

She shook her head. “No. You will live.” She lowered her hands, flattening them to her dress. “You chose to stay as you are?”

“Are we human?” Sam asked again and the woman laughed. She reached for him, her hands no longer glowing and Sam forced himself to hold still while she ran a finger down his face, hoping that if he did so, she wouldn’t cut him again.

“You were never human,” she replied, stroking Sam’s cheek. Her fingernail caught on his skin and he winced but held his ground as she dug in. “You are better now than you were. The taint inside you had nowhere to run when your guardian came to you.”

Sam stared, trying to decide if she was really saying what he thought she was saying. Dean shoved Sam backward, stepping between Sam and the woman. “Are you—”

“Better the gift,” she replied, “than the taint.” She smiled again. “Better than human. More. But yet not one of us…” Then, from one moment to the next, she wasn’t there anymore. Sam blinked and Dean jumped beside him.

“Fuck, that shit is creepy,” Dean said. He stared at the spot that the woman had just been in before suddenly whirling around and grabbing a hold of Sam’s face, checking out the spots that she had scraped with her fingernail. Dean narrowed his eyes, checking for signs of damage but Sam couldn’t feel any pain, just the slight trail of blood—he’d done worse to himself shaving.

“You boys ought to leave now,” Jacobson said, stepping away from the door and pulling off the remains of his coat. “Sarah’s told you everything you shouldn’t have had to know. If you would have just left when I told you…”

Dean growled. “Dream on, Sheriff Wolfman. We’re not going anywhere.”

Jacobson rolled his eyes and ignored the threat. “Well I say you’d better because this here’s a murder investigation,” Jacobson warned, “do you got that?”

“Fuck you—”

“What are you?” Sam interrupted and Dean stopped cold, apparently wanting to hear the answer to that as well. He nodded to the spot where the woman had just been standing. “What is she?”

Jacobson smirked sardonically. “Nothing that’s got a name,” he said. “Too old and not high profile enough. Now, you heard her. We can’t fix you—Ronnie shouldn’t have done what he did, but he did.”

“And we’re just supposed to live with that?” Dean snarled.

Jacobson shrugged. “Live with it, don’t live with it. Gonna be awfully hard to kill you now, though, so I’d suggest the living with it.”

Sam stepped forward. “What’s that mean?”

Jacobson was crossing the lobby of the inn to stand beside Brian’s body. “Like Sarah said,” he answered, “it’s a gift and you’ll live. You might not be turned completely but you’ll live.” He stared down at Brian and swallowed. “Brian was 212 years old. Hell of a way to die. Killed by the one that you fought so hard to protect. That’s why he wanted you out of here so bad, thought you’d hurt Ronnie—isn’t that just ironic? But he couldn’t scare you properly—too gentle. He was the one you curled up with on a winter night not the one you chose for war.”

“How…” Sam stopped himself, debating if he should continue on before forcing out the question. “How many of you are there?”

Jacobson smiled at Sam, shaking his head. “A few.”

“The whole town?” Dean snarled.

“Not quite that much.” Jacobson squatted beside Brian’s body, reaching out to close the dead man’s sightless eyes.

Dean pushed past Sam, descending the stairs. “So, what, we’re just supposed to walk out of here and you keep killing people? I don’t fucking think so.”

Jacobson was apparently unconcerned that Dean was heading for him. “Ronnie was never right,” he said quietly, smoothing the remains of Brian’s sweater. “He was never meant to be one of us—couldn’t live off of her like the rest of us but he…” He stood up again, his eyes glancing over to Ronnie’s head once more. “He was my _son_. One mistake and I had a _son_. What kind of man would I have been to just let him die…?” He jerked his head away. “Should have let him die.”

“Ronnie was dying when he was human, wasn’t he?” Sam asked quietly and Jacobson nodded.

“Cancer, most likely. We didn’t know what that was back then—just that Sarah thought he was ‘wrong.’ We all knew it was a mistake but we did it anyway. Didn’t know that he’d need, you know, _extra_ … Or that he’d turn on his family.” Jacobson wiped a smudge off his face and headed back for the door. “I’m about to call this in, so I suggest you boys skip town.”

“Sheriff!” Dean called after him and Jacobson turned back around. Dean stared at Brian’s dead body even as he posed the question to Jacobson. “So you and the freaky bitch are saying that we’re stuck being one of you?”

“Sarah didn’t turn you,” Jacobson said by way of answer. “Ronnie did and he couldn’t do it all the way—shouldn’t have even been able to do that but he wasn’t right. You’re still human just…different. ‘More.’” He licked his lips and nodded, apparently reaching a decision. “Like Sarah said, it was supposed to kill you. Kill both of you.”

“Of starvation,” Sam replied.

Jacobson nodded again. “Your brother would have drained you dry then turned around and died. Ronnie couldn’t have known that you would live through it—it’s rare to find people who are.” Over half a century, Ronnie had said. “Those girls that died—they were hunters, too.”

“So they weren’t just travelers,” Sam said.

“No, they weren’t. And Ronnie took their hearts after they died—one of starvation, the other of being drained dry.”

Sam tilted his head, understanding. “He needed the hearts of those who’d been turned.”

Jacobson nodded. “That’s why he killed Brian. Needed the heart to recharge.” Jacobson wiped his hands on his pants and glanced at the wall. “Just like he did 25 years ago. We tried to stop him but he ran off. Don’t know where he was hiding out but those girls found him. Chased him back here.” He glanced up at Sam and Dean again. “We take care of our own.”

“What about George Littleton?” Dean demanded. “Was he one of you, too?”

“No,” Jacobson said, shaking his head. “Poor George was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Saw Ronnie when he shouldn’t have.” With that, Jacobson was apparently done giving answers because he turned and headed out the door. “You’ve got a ten minute head start.”

Sam walked down the stairs to stand beside Dean, lightly touching his arm, feeling his fingertips heat with just the barely there brush. “Dean—”

“Let’s get the hell out of here, Sammy,” Dean snarled, throwing him off. He stepped over Brian’s dead body and stalked out the door. Sam jogged after him, running down the steps of the Camdon and following Dean towards where they’d parked the Impala. Sam grabbed a hold of the Impala’s door handle on the passenger side, looking at Dean over the roof but Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Time’s a wasting, Sam,” Dean said, swinging into the driver’s side seat.

Sam nodded. He doubted that Jacobson would wait forever—or even the ten minutes he had promised them and he supposed they could always talk when they were far away from the Camdon Inn.

Dean gunned the engine and the Impala kicked up gravel behind it, the wheels squealing when they turned onto the blacktop. The light flowing out from the broken door of the building behind them quickly faded into the night.

\---

The Impala was way too small. It pained Dean to admit that, but that was exactly how he was feeling. Or maybe it wasn’t that the Impala was too small. Maybe it was just that Sam was too _big._ Either way, the Impala was entirely way too full of Sam and his stupid, sexy smell that had Dean throbbing in his jeans.

He’d _known_ that they hadn’t wanted to go to Michigan. He’d fucking _known_ it. And now here they were in Wisconsin and all Dean could think about was how damn good Sam smelled and how close he was sitting and how fucking desperate Dean was getting, like a junkie needing his next fix. He supposed he was a junkie now—a Sam junkie.

Christ this was fucked up.

The only good news was, after four hours in the car, Dean thought he was finally getting the hang of ‘blocking Sam’—keeping the nosy fucker out of his head. Of course, Sam was apparently already a master, so Dean wasn’t getting anything out of his own snooping. Not that he wanted to see what was inside Sam’s head. He already had a pretty good idea and Dean wasn’t quite sure he appreciated how few clothes tended to be involved. He’d never thought he’d say that but there it was.

And Sam was _still_ smelling tastier than a well-prepared steak, _damn it_. Dean shifted in his seat, regretting the fact that he didn’t wear looser jeans.

“You know, we always could just…” Dean glanced over to see Sam staring at him—or rather at his crotch.

Dean swallowed. He’d been fighting this off for hours and, while he thought he was starting to be able to go without for longer, it wasn’t fucking easy. Going back to the cabin and packing instead of fucking had definitely cost Dean more than he’d ever care to admit. But still. “No,” he said.

“Dean…”

“No, Sam.” If he gave in to this then that meant that the monsters won. Or something. It wasn’t even that he was mad about the no longer being completely human thing because—hell. Sam hadn’t been exactly human since he was 6 months old, so who was Dean to complain? But if he gave in, he’d still be fucking his _brother_ and it didn’t matter how damn good it would feel or how fucking irresistible Sam smelled—“Ah, fuck it.” Dean slammed on the brakes and hauled the Impala off the road.

“Dean!” Sam squealed, grabbed the dashboard and trying to brace himself.

Dean threw the Impala into park, pulling out the keys. “You,” he said, pointing at Sam, “in the backseat. Now.”

Sam stared at him for half a second before scrambling for the door handle and falling out of the car.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Dean muttered, but for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t like they hadn’t already erased the damn line. They were here; this was them. The more Dean thought about it, the more he wondered if that little line had even existed for him or if it had just been delusional thinking on his part. He striped off his jacket, throwing it back into the car as he got out and moved for the backseat as well. Sam was already there, looking strangely nervous and tense. Dean glared. “What?”

Sam swallowed. “Are you sure you—”

“Goddamn it, Sam, yes! Yes, I’m sure! Yes, I want you to fuck me! Now take off your goddamned _pants_.” He lunged for Sam, grabbing a hold of Sam’s belt buckle and pulling it open. Fucking Sam and his need to just _talk_ everything to death.

A guy could want to get fucked without having to talk about it first, couldn’t he? In Dean’s head he heard _Yeah, but not **well-adjusted** guys_. “I’ve never been well-adjusted, Sammy,” he replied, “don’t need to start now,” and yanked Sam’s jeans down, taking the underwear along with them.

Sam was still tense and only half-hard but he went willingly when Dean shoved him onto his back. Dean had an idea: If Sam needed to relax, Dean knew how to help him. He scooted downward, settling himself between Sam’s thighs and Sam’s strangled, “Dean, you don’t have to!” was straight up _bullshit_ because his tone was saying that he was gonna die if Dean didn’t. Dean glared at him and reached out to lick the head, tongue swiping over the salty pearl of precome Sam was starting to leak. If he remembered correctly, that always seemed to feel good. Worked this time too, if the way Sam shuddered and finally shut up was anything to go by. Sure it didn’t taste the best, but Sam’s reactions were worth it.

The good news was that there really wasn’t a way to give a bad blow job, per se. No matter what you did, as long as you were trying, it would probably feel pretty damn nice. So Dean figured he didn’t have much to lose. He sucked Sam into his mouth, swirling his tongue like he remembered chicks doing to him before. Sam moaned, his hips shifting beneath Dean’s hands and Dean was glad that he was currently pinning Sam down. He really didn’t know how well he’d be able to handle Sam thrusting.

And Jesus, there was a lot of drool involved. Dean wiped at the spit collecting on his chin before fisting Sam’s cock around the base and attempting to swallow more. He choked and backed off—Christ, he had a new found respect for that chick back in Tallahassee—before settling into an easy rhythm of pumping Sam’s dick with his fist and sucking on the head. Sam seemed to like it anyway, judging by the way he was moaning.

Then there were big hands pulling at his hair, urging him up. Dean pulled off with a wet pop, glaring up at Sam. “What?” he snapped.

“Gotta stop,” Sam gasped. “I’m gonna come.” Oh.

Dean didn’t even try to stop his smirk. Of course he was good at this—hell, guys had been saying for _years_ that that was what is mouth was made for. And yeah, okay, so maybe it could be considered a little bit degrading to know that you’re a good cocksucker but fuck it: a skill was a skill. “God,” Sam breathed. “Get up here.” His hands framed Dean’s face and urged him up to meet Sam’s eager mouth, coaxing Dean into allowing Sam’s tongue to lick inside.

Dean shivered, relaxing his jaw and opening wider as Sam apparently attempted to crawl inside before backing up for some air. “Are you ready?” Sam asked, “God, Dean, are you ready?” and hell yeah Dean was ready. He blindly popped the button on his own jeans, shoving them down and trying his best to kick them off. He was more than ready—he was _dying_ over here.

Apparently that was just perfect for Sam, too, because he hauled Dean up onto his lap, manhandling him into place. Dean would have complained if he wasn’t too busy riding out the shivers skating up and down his spine. As it was, he was way too busy trying to get his jeans off to be bothered. “Yeah,” Sam whispered. “Yeah, just like that…” and the next thing Dean knew Sam’s fingers were pushing up inside of him.

Dean gasped, his eyes rolling back inside his head—Christ, was this getting better each time? Sam wasn’t wasting any time, either, just giving Dean a quick cursory stretching, slick with the travel size container of KY that Sam had blushingly bought at the gas station two hours back, before he was pushing himself inside of Dean. Dean bit down on his lip as he and Sam found a rhythm, one that had him seeing stars. “Fuck!” he swore, banging his fist against the Impala’s roof.

“Yeah,” Sam said, his hands roaming everywhere and his eyes taking in everything. Dean certainly hoped he was enjoying the damn view because Dean was doing all the damn work. The familiar electric tingle and the heat were back, crackling though his body and expanding inside him.

Dean snarled when Sam started to seize because, fuck, it was too damn soon! But then Sam grabbed a hold of Dean’s dick, stroking it, and then Dean was coming too. Dean rode it out before collapsing on top of Sam who pressed a series of grateful kisses along Dean’s jaw. Dean patiently allowed him and absolutely did not purr—that would have been just way too sissified. Getting fucked in the ass did not automatically making him a girl. Or at least it shouldn’t.

“It doesn’t,” Sam assured him and Dean rolled his eyes before burying his face in Sam’s shoulder.

“So…” Sam started but Dean stopped him, holding up a finger.

“Still not talking about this, Sam.” Sam sighed underneath Dean and actually fell quiet. When Dean glanced up, Sam was staring moodily at the roof. Dean echoed Sam’s sigh. “This is just between us,” Dean said, waiting until Sam looked at him before continuing. “We don’t have to talk about it.” Fuck this shit—Dean was done running from it.

They couldn’t fix it, they had to go through with it, they weren’t even hurting anybody, and it made Sam happy. Who the fuck was Dean to deny it? And even he had to admit that it felt kind of good. He just didn’t feel like they had to talk about it—it was just another level of them. Another level of Sam and Dean and the general fucked-upness of their lives.

Sam—damn perceptive, smart Sam—was apparently reading this all loud and clear, too, because he smiled like a fucking sunny day. “You’re okay with this?”

“I said we’re not talking about this,” Dean grumbled but he didn’t bother to move, staying fully on top of Sam, dropping his head back down to Sam’s shoulder. Hey. It was kind of comfy. Maybe he could even take a nap.

“Dean.”

“Yes, Sam!” Dean snapped, muffled as it was against Sam’s bare skin. “For fuck’s sake, I’m okay with it! Now can we _please_ stop talking about it? Please.” Pardon him if he didn’t want to necessarily talk about how he liked getting fucked up the ass by Sam. It really wasn’t something you needed to mention, right?

“I love you,” Sam said and Dean groaned.

“Dude, don’t make me say it.” He placed his hands against Sam’s chest and pushed himself up since apparently Sam wasn’t going to let him sleep—which would have been the only decent thing to do after fucking Dean’s brains out, but whatever. “We should get going if we want to hit Indiana by nightfall.”

“Sure,” Sam said with a smile and then dragged Dean down for a kiss. Dean kissed him back. Just another fucked-up level of ‘Winchester normal.’

_Two years later._

The gigantic rat was heading towards the south. It had an official name but fucked if Dean could be bothered to remember the word that Sam had rattled off. He doubted Sam could be bothered either, as much as he pretended otherwise. All that he knew was that it was some kind of Scottish creature so what it was doing in the mountains of West Virginia was anybody’s guess.

Frankly, Dean was having more fun quoting _The Princess Bride_ at Sam, rambling on about ‘rodents of unusual size’ and making Sam roll his eyes. Unfortunately, Sam was down in the gully, keeping parallel with Dean as they tried to corner the rat but out of sight. That was too bad. Dean would have liked to see Sam’s face screw up into his annoyed pout right about now. Just the thought of it made Dean want to giggle and he could have used the full-on laugh as they slowly climbed up hill.

Along the link that Dean had gotten used to between them, he was feeling irritation from Sam which was hardly unusual. What was interesting, however, was that it wasn’t irritation at _Dean_. Curious, Dean poked at Sam’s consciousness receiving only annoyed rebuffs until he realized that Dean wasn’t going to give up on this and so he let Dean in with an exasperated mental shrug, like a huge sigh. Smiling happily as he kept moving along on the creature’s trail, Dean explored along Sam’s body, quickly locating the source of Sam’s irritation. Apparently, Sammy didn’t like his wet shoes.

Dean huffed a laugh and wondered if this would make Sam start to wear boots like he should. Probably not. He hopped over a moss-covered log, moving into a darker part of the forest. _Happy now?_ Sam sent, loud and clear and better than Dean could manage because no matter how hard Dean tried, Sam was always better at the psychic crap. It was a challenge, pure and simple, and, though they were supposed to be tracking the ROUS, Dean couldn’t help himself. This would only take a few seconds.

He stopped in the middle of the trail he’d been following, and ran his fingers teasingly over his own cock, thinking of the way Sam looked naked and stretched over a bed, feeling and enjoying a budding sense of pleasure. Satisfied, he bundled it up and chucked it at Sam.

The first reaction Dean was able to pick up was a quick flare of arousal before it was stamped out, replaced by a surge of annoyance and then Dean was firmly shoved out of Sam’s head with a resounding _Focus._ Dean grinned and started moving again, hoping that they’d at least catch the thing before it started in on the actual mountain part of the trail.

They hadn’t been back to Michigan since their disastrous attempt to kill Sheriff Wolfman and his creepy Arwen wannabe. Dean didn’t mind. He’d be happy if he never had to travel there again, actually. It wasn’t that he was holding a grudge or anything against Jacobson and his merry little wolf pack—after two years, Dean had gotten used to the changes in his body. He was even starting to consider it ‘normal’—pretty damn bizarre but that was a hunter’s life. Everyone had their cross to bear and Dean supposed that there were worse things in life to deal with than a little bit of consensual brother-fucking and he couldn’t deny that he and Sam were even more effective than ever, being able to communicate over a distance now with their own built-in two-way radios. So the big, bad pervy wolves could just suck it because they had nothing to do with any reason why or why not Dean didn’t want to go back to the abysmally dull upper peninsula of northern Michigan. It was more that Sam and his little visit had reaffirmed that there was nothing up there besides trees and the crazies who loved them.

Dean snorted. Not that he didn’t think he wouldn’t try to shoot Jacobson if he ever met him again. Just on principle.

_Dean!_ Sam shouted in Dean’s head and Dean felt like his ears should be ringing. He shook himself and glanced down into the gully where Sam was still hiding but the tree cover. _Found it._

Smiling, Dean skidded down the cliff, trying to reach the bottom as soon as possible even as he told Sam to stay put. They didn’t know what the damn thing was capable of—just that it had already killed two people and that they really didn’t want to add to the body count. A flash of pain shot across Dean’s consciousness and his eyes widened. “Sammy?” he yelled, moving faster. Damn it. Sam had apparently engaged the damn thing regardless of what Dean had told him to do. “Damn it, Sam!”

There was another stab of pain followed by a surge of satisfaction and Dean growled. He finally hit the bottom of the gully, having just given up and out and out slid down the last part of the cliff. As soon as he found his feet, he was off and running, heading towards where he could feel Sam.

Along the link, Dean could feel only a lingering bit of soreness, Sam’s smug satisfaction, and the ever-present annoyance about wet shoes. Dean pushed through the vegetation and emerged to were Sam was waiting, standing ankle deep in water beside the body of the Scottish rodent, a chunk of iron sticking out its side. “Sam!” Dean snapped and Sam turned to look at him.

Sam shrugged. “I think it was waiting for us,” he said. “It jumped out at me.” Dean turned his glare from Sam down to the ROUS as it slowly bled out into the stream. Fucking A. He moved closer to Sam, running his hands over Sam’s body, checking for wounds and Sam allowed him. “Landed on top of me,” Sam explained and Dean grunted as he only found the slight bruising from the creature’s paws and nothing else. “Wouldn’t have had a chance to sneak up on me if you’d been focusing on the job at hand.”

Dean set his teeth. He did _not_ need a guilt trip right now. “You telling me you can’t multitask, Sam?” Sam was right and Dean couldn’t argue that but, damn it, Dean was able to do multiple things at once so why couldn’t Sam?

“When it’s you? No.”

Dean snorted, surprised that Sam was owning up to that. “Then you should have just let me fuck you this morning. Then neither of us would have been distracted.” Dean had woken up early back at the motel and had tried his damnedest to convince Sam to just roll over and let Dean have at it.

“Dean,” Sam sighed, “Suzanne was knocking on the door.”

“She could have waited.” Dean hadn’t liked the nosy reporter since the first time that he’d met her, anyway. Even if she had given them the lead that had eventually led them to this section of the mountains. She could just keep her big nose out of it.

“She doesn’t have a big nose,” Sam retorted and Dean raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t!”

“How about this, Sammy?” Dean asked. “If you’re going to spend your time trying to read my thoughts on what I think about nosy bystanders, why don’t you read this one?” He focused hard on the image of Sam stretched out beneath him, legs spread with his cock moving down Dean’s throat. That sounded like a fantastic idea right about now. All this running around in the mountains was making Dean just a little bit…hungry.

“Damn it, Dean…” Sam hissed. He couldn’t hide the answering throb of arousal and Dean grinned. Yeah. Sam and him were going to go back to the motel and they were going to finish what Dean had been trying to start this morning and it was going to be _awesome_. “We still have to burn this thing,” Sam snarled, pointing down at the monster’s carcass.

Sam was _such_ a killjoy. Dean sighed, glaring down at the thing in the water. “Ain’t gonna burn easy,” he said. The damn thing was wet now.

“No, it’s not,” Sam agreed snottily. “So help me move it.” Sam bent down to distastefully eye the iron rebar stuck in the creature’s side and he had to be kidding if he thought that Dean was just going to let him get away with that. Dean reached out and fisted a handful of Sam’s hair, using the leverage to drag Sam close to him because Sam was at the perfect height now.

“Think you owe me, Sammy,” Dean growled, pulling Sam towards his crotch.

“Grow up,” Sam shot back but he wasn’t bothering to fight Dean.

“You wouldn’t let me fuck you this morning, throwing a bitch fit now…think you’re trying to starve me.”

Sam snorted. “A day’s not going to kill you.” That was true. They pushed the limits, once, just trying to find out where the boundaries were and now they both knew that that they could go about a week without jumping each other. Not that it would be a particularly pleasant week, especially not near the end. Sam rolled his eyes, though, and grabbed a hold of Dean’s hips. “How about I promise to let you just as soon as we get back to the motel?” he asked.

Dean licked his lips, considering it, but then Sam mouthed along Dean’s crotch, sucking him through his jeans and he pitched forward, nearly falling over. The promise was a little to real to ignore. “Okay,” Dean said, regretfully pushing Sam away. “Let’s burn this motherfucker.”

Sam smirked but Dean ignored him, shoving the overgrown rat onto dry land because as soon as they torched the damn thing, Sam’s ass was Dean’s.

He was hungry, damn it.

 

  
[Part 5](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/144225.html) | [Master Post](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/145007.html) | [Art Post](http://samndeankissing.livejournal.com/27901.html)  


  



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